


Glitter and Glass

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Glitter and Glass Universe [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Crossover, F/M, House Braun, House Wayne, House Wesker, Imperial Judges, Intimacy, M/M, Meta humans, Non-Sexual Slavery, Savior Complex, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 149,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> It wasn't a complete tragedy. as some people seemed to think, that he had bought out of his bond-debt, and then fallen afoul of a House War. There was a lot of responsibility in being Free and frankly the privileges hadn't exactly outweighed the responsibilities. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>In a dystopian world of Houses and House Wars, crimes must still be solved, and points adjudicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Gil Grissom hated going to the Rampart.

There was a particular cloud of thoughts and things he needed to be aware of that followed over him when he decided to leave his kit in the trunk of his vehicle when he locked it. Not there for an investigation, and maybe that was what was bothering him. He was going there of his own free will, parking in the employee parking lot because he could, before he headed up the back stairwell to the lobby. The elevator more than effectively worked, but he wanted to take his time and go over what he was going to say to Sam Braun before he got there.

This was one talk with the man that he couldn't afford to wing, like he usually did. He had to be aware of a hundred different tiny factors, but none of them were running coherently through his mind as he took every step up the stair well. The thin running light of blue neon at the underside of the stairs above his head garnered more attention, and so did the feeling of the handrail under his fingers before he stopped at the door that would let him out into the lobby.

One deep breath later, and there wasn't any point in waiting any longer. He'd made his decision, and he wasn't the kind of man to chew over a decision until he was sick with indecision.

Still, opening the lobby door and stepping out into it, walking carefully through it to the elevators that he knew he could take up to see at least Braun's secretary, was like dropping into a world of glitter and gleam. They made the lighting warm-toned, Gil knew, because it made everything gleam a little more gold than it already did, caught the edges of metal wrists cuffs and fresh dice in interesting ways, gleamed off the chrome of the slot machines.

It was a place of dreams -- there was always the chance that you might hit it big enough to buy out the bond-debt and become Free. Or sometimes it was a way of hoping for a little extra luxury or a good time. Gil preferred more direct routes to his goal, which was why he was here.

He had an appointment with the head of House Braun, which was no mean feat in itself. House Braun might not be one of those invited to the Imperial Court, but rumor had it that it was close. It nigh on ran the Vegas strip and it was only a matter of time before its accumulated assets would put it on a par with some of the Great Houses -- like the Luthors, or Waynes. 

Getting an appointment with Sam Braun was an accomplishment, but getting what you wanted was more like a miracle. He still thought he had a chance, though he hadn't given too much thought to the possible cost. He had rank, status, and despite the way he'd been brought into House Braun, he'd never been anything but a diligent worker in an important field.

He didn't ask for much or give the House much trouble, so maybe everything would work out, as long as he pitched it right. 

Gil gave the house guard standing by the elevator a smile. "Investigator Supervisor Gil Grissom. I have an appointment with Master Sam Braun."

The guard glanced down at Gil's status cuffs automatically and relaxed as he picked out the House Braun insignia. "Level 17. I'll let them know you are on your way sir."

"Thank you." He waited for the elevator doors to open after the man had pressed it open with the touch of the button that was behind him.

And then he stepped into the elevator. 

There were cameras in the leftmost corner, and they took in everything in endless loops of film that were stored for six months in the control center. Gil knew that, knew where the control center was, knew that six months ago a technician had lost his job and was now in Imperial prison for mimicking a feed to that specific elevator so that someone could try to sneak up to the 17th floor to kill Sam Braun. He also knew that there was a backup feed from the camera on the right, the storage location of those contents unknown.

Most people didn't even know there was a camera in the right corner. 

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and rubbed at his status cuffs. They were a little loose. He'd been working out with Jim after hours sometimes, and it had helped to make long hours of fieldwork easier to tolerate. It also meant that he'd have to get them adjusted in the next couple of days so they didn't drive him mad.

People tended to look a little suspiciously at people with loose cuffs; it was something he noted in his work. If he found a body with loose cuffs, he would immediately be suspecting identity theft, or some sort of killing-fraud. Or, if he wasn't being suspicious, someone who didn't take any pride in their appearance or had low self-worth.

The elevator moved smoothly to a halt, opening into a luxurious and impressive reception area.

"Investigator Supervisor Grissom, we've been expecting you." The secretary that approached him could have easily had a different career path in the Pleasure industry or as a Personal, and a discrete look at her status cuffs revealed that she did indeed have the appropriate qualifications to do so. Following an administration career path must have been a personal choice.

"Master Braun is ready to see you now." She smiled sweetly at him obviously trying to put him at his ease.

Braun had probably chosen her as his secretary for just that reason -- the charm of her, and for her unquestionably fine features. After all, most Houses liked to put up a good front, best foot forwards, and Braun was no different in that respect from any of the other houses vying for dominance in the fiercely competitive nature of their society.

The only difference was that they usually were the best, not just looking it. He inclined his head slightly, gave her a smile that belied his internal state, and followed her when she gestured to his doors. "Thank you."

She smiled as she knocked on the door and then pushed it open. "Investigator Supervisor Grissom sir," she introduced him and then stepped aside, revealing an office that was stunning in its opulence. Sam Braun flaunted his success as most Masters did, but few had the money to have original great works of art on their office walls.

"Ah, Gil Grissom... come in, take a seat," Sam Braun said genially, watching him with hawk sharp eyes.

"Thank you, sir." The geniality wasn't to be trusted, Gil knew. For all that Catherine liked Sam and got along well with him, Gil preferred to keep his professional distance. Making friends with a Master, even a good one, could cloud judgment that he needed to keep a grasp of, keep clear of any mental baggage or thoughts like... 

"I appreciate you giving me the chance to talk with you." He'd wait to broach the topic itself once Braun had replied.

"I do like to be accessible to members of my own Household," Sam replied easily. "And you have been one of my better acquisitions. It's not often that I get the opportunity to acquire a Freeman contractor with a national reputation as part of an ordinary House War. Unfortunate for you, but hopefully you haven't found your return to House Service too onerous?"

"Not at all." Gil rested his arms on the armrest of the chair, hearing the faint clink of metal on wood. There was a comforting certainty in knowing that he had a place in society, and no more responsibility than getting his job done. "House Braun has been a good Household to me, and... that's exactly why I wanted to talk to you. One of the lab's subcontracting employees is from a House that isn't so easy on their property."

"Oh yes?" Sam Braun looked vaguely interested. "And why are you bringing this to me?"

"I..." Gil paused, taking in Braun's expression. "I wanted to see if there was some way I could get House Braun to Challenge for him."

Sam Braun steepled his fingers a moment. "I see. A Challenge is a serious business and I don't authorize it on a whim, and generally only for worthwhile causes. I could, after all, lose one of my Champions or have them incapacitated. Any rival House sensing a weakness would seize the opportunity to hit us in concert. Convince me that this one employee is worth taking that risk for."

"He's a gem-level Investigator with a specialty in DNA testing -- he's our only gem level DNA qualified Investigator, and he's currently coming in to work in a condition where it's amazing that he can work. He's only twenty-seven. In another ten years, if he lives that long, he could probably surpass me in qualification levels." 

Asset. He was an important asset with the possibility to have more potential in years to come. Gil had to focus on that in his mind as a selling point instead of the hairline fracture that Greg currently had in one leg, which was keeping him confined to the lab for at least a week on order of their doctor-cum-coroner.

"Hmm. Gem level and being treated like that? Why hasn't somebody Challenged for him before if he's that high ranked, especially in a professional specialty?" Sam looked like someone was trying to sell him glass instead of jewels. "Some kind of attitude problems? Incompatibility? He would have asked for Challenge before, surely."

It wasn't an unreasonable statement. High status bond-slaves would and could invite Challenge from another House. It didn't always make it to a Fight level -- most often the Houses would try and negotiate a Challenge with buyouts, but a House with strong Fighters or a high profile Champion would take the risk and a Challenge could net them a debt-free bond-slave.

"Low sense of self worth," Gil offered as explanation. He hadn't expected Sam to effortlessly accept his proposal, but... But. He wanted it to work; he wanted to get the Challenge approved. If he thought he was capable of it, he'd Challenge himself, but all the training with Jim in the world wouldn't really prepare him for that sort of Challenge, and he didn't want Greg to feel indebted to him. Better to make it a House affair, just in terms of politics.

"He's been in that House all of his life as far as I know. If he doesn't understand that there are better options out there for him... Please, look at this for the opportunity it is. He's a skilled worker who discounts his own marketability."

"And what are your reasons for this, hmm?" Sam Braun asked considering his words. "What can you offer me to do this favor for you?"

That was how it was going to be. He should have expected that, the intangible fear that had been biting at the back of his mind, making him nervous about the decision. Of course he'd owe Braun something. "I... don't actually know what you would prefer as payment for a favor like that."

"Well it would be a little pointless to add to your bond-debt," Sam Braun said. "For all your triple shifts and exemplary work, you're still a long way from freedom. You can't effectively offer me... financial remuneration and a 'can't be beaten' House Champion has a high fee. So... I ask you, Gil, where are your limits? How badly do you want this particular prize? Enough to gamble?"

He managed a faint smile as he glanced over towards the camera monitors that were slightly behind Braun and to the left. "I wouldn't have stepped into the Rampart if I wasn't ready to gamble."

"Well said for a member of House Braun." Sam Braun seemed to make a decision. "Well, here's your gamble. I'll call a Challenge on the basis of contractual negligence -- that they're depleting my productivity with their treatment of a subcontractor whom I believe is necessary. For this, I will hold you accountable with two favors… one which I think will be easy for you to fulfill, the other I'll contact you about in the near future. Renege on either and the Challenge will not go forward. Understand?"

Sam Braun's genial look was replaced entirely by the hard-nosed Master of a House that had clawed its way up through the ranks and now practically ran Vegas.

Braun wasn't someone to renege on in a deal. Braun possibly wanted him to look the other way in an investigation, something... Something he shouldn't do. Something that would bother his sense of ethics endlessly. But for the life, the relative freedom of a member of his team...?

"I understand."

"Good. Then the first favor is that you mentor and promote Catherine Willows as swiftly as possible without being blatant in your favoritism," Sam informed him. "I don't want you to give her a role she doesn't deserve, but go out of your way to give her those opportunities to earn that role, do you understand?"

"Fast-track her in something she's already qualified for," Gil clarified. It was as easy as rewording Braun's request into something that he could easily palate himself. 

Catherine. Well, that wasn't a surprise, knowing that Braun doted on her. She was good. It wouldn't be hard to qualify her a little higher, make her worthy of the promotion. Slide her some hard cases, give her a couple of the career makers.

"Good. She's proud. She wants to earn her way out. I respect that," Sam Braun smiled a little, a genuine smile as he contemplated Catherine. "But where I don't want to give her an easy ride, I can arrange opportunity. The second... well. I'll get back to you on that before the Challenge is issued. I'll start the House lawyers on negotiations. Two days perhaps and then we'll see."

Two days. Two days was long enough for it to bother him, and Gil knew that Braun would want him to mull it over before the agreement was permanent and binding. "All right. Thank you. I'm sure you won't choose anything beyond my scale of abilities for the second."

"Lets just say what I have in mind might prove a different sort of Challenge," Braun said with a smile. "Well, thank you for bringing that to my attention Gil. Be sure to leave details of this subcontractor and his House with my secretary before you leave."

He gave Braun a nod, and started to stand. "I will, thank you, sir. I'll... see myself out."

Sam Braun watched him go for a moment, before seeming to lose interest as Grissom let himself out of the office and back in towards the reception area. The alert secretary smiled at him pleasantly, as if she had genuinely missed him in those few minutes he was having an audience with the Master of House Braun. "Do you have some details to give me sir?" she asked. With a dart of her eyes, she noted with calm efficiency his high professional status.

Gil paused for a moment at her desk, the relieving cool sensation of the marble desktop against his knuckles a distraction from guessing what Braun could have him at work doing. "Yes, I need to give you the information about a subcontractor in my department. His house is House Wesker."

"House Wesker. Oh yes, they have a branch in Vegas," the secretary commented. "And the name of the subcontractor?"

"Gregor Sanders." He took a moment to spread his palm out on the desktop edge, because it was something to feel beyond thought and unease.

"Duly noted. Master Braun will be contacting you shortly. Until then, you are requested to maintain confidentiality about your discussions," the secretary advised him. "Have a good evening sir."

He wondered if that had been part of her training script. Don't talk about your dealings and feel free to have a worried evening. "Good". Gil tapped the counter once, and managed a smile before he turned away. "You, too."

If she smiled at him, he didn't notice or was too distracted to care. All he could think of was what Sam Braun could possibly even need to negotiate as a favor from him, considering he could buy most things in Vegas. And what could a man who had everything want?

* * *

He wouldn't be going to sleep early that day, or maybe anytime soon at all. Gil was tense, and no amount of staring at his ceiling would make it go away. Now the weight of Greg's survival rested on him. On him not backing down, on him holding up to the two things that Braun wanted of him.

A challenging task in exchange for a life? It was obvious what his choice was. It was also obvious that it would gnaw at him. He was going to have two days of double shifts just to work himself to exhaustion, once he did go in to work. Maybe he could go in early, clean up some reports, dot his Is and cross his Ts. But before that, he was going to take himself to the House jeweler and have his cuffs adjusted.

It made him feel uncomfortable walking around knowing that people were assuming he was a fake or a slacker of some description. At least the House Braun setting was a little more tasteful than a few he had worn in his time and the jeweler would fix them while you waited, for obvious reasons. It wasn't legal for a bonded Slave to wander around without his status cuffs. The law was very clear on that. Fortunately, the House jeweler could be found in the Rampart -- not unsurprisingly as it was Sam Braun's high security stronghold and it wasn't hard to thread his way through the gambling floor over towards the shopping area that was inside the casino.

There was everything in there, temptations for anything a person could want to spend newly won money on. Gil preferred to stop into a market run by a high House because even if smaller markets were cheaper; there was a guarantee of quality in the products that was important to have when it came to electronics equipment, in particular. The imports he could find in high houses like Braun were without question of the highest quality.

The work on cuff resizing or stone setting was also high quality, the only sign of Gil's multiple resizings over the years a warped line at the very middle on the inside.

And for once, there wasn't a line. Maybe he needed to do that at 4 pm more often.

"Another from Investigations," the Jeweler commented with a smile. "Good afternoon sir, surely not another addition already? Didn't I fit a gem increment to you a couple of months ago?"

"You did -- I need them sized down this time." He was able to smile then -- usually he was there for an incrementation change, and needing to go there was usually a good thing. It was this time, too, if he thought about it well. He was fitter, stronger, still healthy at his age. That was important, too. "Another?"

"From your department apparently. He's in the waiting area getting a metal grade on a 'trace polymer specialty' whatever that means," the Jeweler replied. "I just do the patterning and setting and look it up on the Imperial charts. Or in his case I get my apprentice to do it. Casey is qualified to engrave and set metal now. I'll do yours... you keep me in bond-payments with your level promotions and specialties." He grinned at Gil. 

Gil couldn't help but smile faintly as he leaned a hip against the counter and pushed his sleeves up a little so the skin above and below his cuffs was visible. "That's good to hear. I'm sure I'll find some new level promotion soon enough." It was his academic research that did it for him rather than his field work. Usually. 

He had to wonder who the metal grade in trace polymer was. Trace, trace... Hodges.

The man took his wrists and placed them in an unlocker, hearing it rumble and then click. "You dropped nearly two sizes since you last came in," the jeweler commented. "Take a seat and I'll resize, and I'll throw in a polish for you. You can chat to your... uh... colleague."

That sounded like the voice of someone who'd already spent too much time talking with Hodges. Gil tilted his eyebrows at the man, and he managed a nod. "Thank you." There was a little section over to the side, out of sight of the storefront, where people waited, bare-wristed, for the cuffs to be tended too. Two sizes was quite a difference. No wonder he'd been feeling sloppy and uncomfortable when he stopped to contemplate his cuffs. It had probably been that bad for weeks, but when he coasted from case to case... it was easy to forget things like that.

He wished he could forget that Hodges had caught his eyes when he entered that side room.

"Mr. Grissom sir." Hodges could be seen almost literally turning on a smile for his superior's benefit. "What a coincidence... Can I get you some coffee?"

Gil managed a tight smile, and because he knew that he logically wouldn't be going home to sleep and rest, gave a faint inclination of his head. "I'd appreciate that." After all, it couldn't be anything but unhappy coincidence. It wasn't as if four p.m. was a normal hour for either of them to be up and awake, let alone at the jewelers.

"So..." Hodges got up and poured some of the complimentary coffee and brought it back. "This was the only time I could get in. It's been a nightmare. Would you believe since they transferred me in, they still haven't put me in my correct housing band? Well they say that they have but there's no way that the pokey apartment I have now matches up. I did have to come in from New York. I've had to spend all day down at the House Administration trying to persuade some b- uh, unhelpful administrator that as I am going up to a metal level specialty, I should definitely be in a metal based housing band. But then she tells me she can't see any evidence of a metal increment so... Anyway here I am getting it done before I go back and try again."

Hodges wasn't a transfer in the usual manner, as far as Gil knew. And he did know, as a Supervisor. He was an 'acquisition', which meant House War or a runaway looking for a home. And as kiss-ass as Hodges was -- Gil could almost hear the man trying to latch on beneath the noise of the chair legs squeaking over expensive waxed tiles -- it didn't click with House War.

"I'm sure you'll get it worked out."

"House bureaucracy," Hodges said sitting down next to him as he passed over the coffee. "But obviously I came in at the right time. I find it hard to believe the Investigation Unit in Vegas hasn't had anyone with sufficient specialties in trace. That kid... Sanders right? I suppose he's got the levels but I suppose because he has DNA marked up, trace seems second rate and it can be the key to a case sometimes. You don't always get the DNA, right?"

Gil folded his fingers around the coffee cup, wishing that the thin Styrofoam would actually conduct sufficient heat to his hands to make it feel like he was holding something hot. The most conversation he wanted to give the man was a curt 'No, we don't' but he knew he had to do better. If there was any kind of level for 'ability to interact appropriately with other humans' Gil had a feeling he'd be stone level. Not quite as low as wood, but... But Hodges wanted Gil to throw him a bone. "No, we don't. And while DNA can link a suspect, trace can tell us what was used." 

"Exactly!" Hodges beamed and relaxed as if he was now Grissom's best buddy. "You can do so much with trace, you know. You know, I once did a trace on a House War a few years back. Proved a fraudulent killing claim. Knocked the rival house back a few points in the adjudication and the Imperial Judge ruled against them. That's how important trace can be."

That made Gil's mouth twitch a little. Maybe he'd been in the system too long, because even though he knew that every point counted in a ruling like that... He'd testified in too many cases where he'd knocked the point scale over just by one or two, where both sides had been crooked in their dealings. "David. I know how important trace is. I've been an Investigator for a very long time now. No part of the evidence is any less important than the other pieces."

"Well it's certainly refreshing to have a Supervisor, particularly with your status, recognize that," Hodges replied, absently 'wrist-scrubbing' as Brass called it.

It was one of his sure fire tips for someone who was trying to pass themselves off as a freeborn or a long term buy out. The presence of the status cuffs was so ingrained into the consciousness that take them away and a person would fidget insecurely with the bare wrists. Hodges looked distinctly uncomfortable particularly as he saw Grissom glance at his bare wrists.

"I uh... they should be done soon." The man practically blushed as he tried to hide them from close scrutiny.

Sometimes, even legitimate long term buy-outs took a while to get used not to having cuffs. But it wasn't a nervous sort of wrist-scrubbing, not like the faint guilty feeling of being bare there. Gil's own cuffs had left matching pale stripes against his tanned skin, and he glanced to his own wrists for a moment, the stark contrast of white against tan, and then took another sip of coffee.

"It isn't as if I have mine on, either."

"Sidle was telling me in San Francisco where she came in on, there are underground clubs where people 'unlock' and everyone goes without," Hodges said looking faintly horrified. "That's just... dangerous. I mean... how would you know who you were with? They could be killers! What if a rival House came in?" He shook his head at the state of a world where common sense and decency were abandoned for cheap thrills.

Gil could hardly muster the effort it took to shrug at Hodges' horror. "People do things like that. I can understand the urge, certainly, even if I wouldn't do it myself." After all... Freedom, being really free, was an amazing thing. He could understand why someone would want to play with the feeling, the utter danger of it, for a little while.

Freedom was nice to visit but...

It wasn't a complete tragedy as some people seemed to think that he had bought out of his bond-debt, and then fallen afoul of a House War. There was a lot of responsibility in being Free and frankly the privileges didn't exactly outweigh the responsibilities. Having someone else be responsible for all of that, and letting him get on with his interests, his work and do what he wanted... well that was pretty good as well.

"Yeah, I can think of one or two that might," Hodges said darkly, obviously mentally tarring a few mutual colleagues as deviant. "You wouldn't catch me in one of those places!"

"To catch people in one of those places, I would have to actually go there," Gil pointed out mutedly. "And instead I 'catch' you here, getting your metal grade adjusted. You know, talk about something like that enough and other people would get suspicious..."

Hodges looked faintly alarmed. "There's nothing to be suspicious of... I... it was just a comment...."

He was about to dig himself in deeper even as the trainee Jeweler came in and smiled at him. "Sir? Would you like to come and be re-locked? I've finished the setting."

"Ah yes," He smiled apologetically at Grissom as if Gil would be heartbroken to see him go. "Sorry about this, Gil... I look forward to continuing our conversation at work."

"I'm sure we'll have some interesting cases. I'll... see you there." He closed his eyes as soon as Hodges started to move, ready to wait in quiet until the resizing and polishing were done. It was one of those days that he might as well head in early, find something interesting, and then work on it for the next thirty hours straight.

"Great." Hodges smiled and left the room, already starting on at the Jeweler. "I hope you know how important this is. I've been waiting for this to..." His voice faded out in detail but the tone was audible.

It was enough to make Gil privately contemplate that if Hodges was a runner, his last House had probably sat there and had a coffee instead of sending someone after him. He could just imagine a House Guard halfheartedly pursuing him for a few days and then strolling back and saying how he had given him the slip, oh dear what a shame. And look, the twenty-eight days were nearly up and there was no point.

That was a little uncharitable but it brought a smile to his face.

It helped, a little, even if it was petty of him. Gil hadn't made any pretentious claims towards sainthood in his years in the lab -- he had a temper, he'd shown it from time to time, he was moody, he... loved his job despite everything. And no one sane would put the odd cutting thought as beyond him.

At least, too, he'd have fresh cuff adjustments before Braun decided what part 'two' was.

He worried at the thought. The concession about Catherine was to be expected. Everyone knew that Catherine's mother had been bought in and trained up from a small house Pleasure Slave to a Courtesan for House Braun. Catherine was just lucky that her mother had opted to join her bond-debt with her own otherwise, Catherine might have ended up separated from her. As it was, she had a surprising level of familiarity with the head of House Braun which probably accounted for her rather smooth way of dealing with high status Free contractors and Masters. And quite possibly her kick-ass attitude.

He wondered if she might have any ideas.

Of course, that would mean talking to her about it. And he didn't want to, really. He didn't want to let her know what he was doing, because it was probably technically stupid and not... usual. Not within the bounds of what most people would do, Gil supposed. Everyone in the lab saw it, every day they worked. Everyone in the lab came in and saw Greg standing there, with a black eye or a bruised cheek, or the missing tuft of hair and the bare patch at the nape of his neck. It was that moment where a victim yelled for someone to dial 911 and everyone thought everyone else was going to do it.

Too dangerous, too much risk, but if someone didn't do something Greg wasn't going to come in to work one day. And his house would pay out the contractual debt, but that would be that.

Gil just couldn't let that happen while he watched.

He'd watched too long as it was and not seen the situation for how bad it really was. For all his experience in observation, he'd let the force of the younger man's personality gloss over the severity of the situation. At least that was why he told himself it had gone on so long. Why he'd let it go on so long.

There wasn't much question in his mind that he'd go through with the second demand Braun had, and Braun had to know that. 

That was what was going to bother him and work through his mind until Braun contacted him again. It worried him more than Hodges was worried to be caught without his cuffs.

"Mr. Grissom?" The House Jeweler was looking around the door. "I'm done. I want to make sure it is a comfortable fit. If you would follow me?"

Gil stood, and kept his coffee cup in hand. If he was lucky, then Hodges would be long gone. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since the other man had left. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sizing down is reasonably easy. We've got a new plating technique. Works a treat," the Jeweler told him. "I just want to make sure there are no rough bits. Some people pad them, but in the long run that's not very satisfactory."

His status cuffs lay sparkling on the unlocker-relocker, his achievements very evident in gem studded glyphs and colors.

"I've tried it." Leather lining, though soft against the skin, could get wet and sodden in their line of work, soak up blood and mess no matter how high he pulled latex gloves up. "You do very good work."

"As you might expect," the man said reaching for his wrists and drawing them down. "Now, tell me if they feel too tight?"

The cuffs were mechanically snapped shut so that they appeared seamless.

It was funny how he'd gotten used not to having his cuffs tight. More than a few weeks, then, maybe. Gil nodded, and pulled his wrists out of the unlocker, rubbing just below them. "Doesn't feel too tight at all."

"That's good. You might want to consider investing in a sonic cleaner for when you take them off in private," the Jeweler said glancing them over. "There was a lot of... detritus around them. Hazards of the job I suspect."

The implication was that with all of those qualifications, he should take better care of them. Gil managed to look faintly chastised. "Well, I'm in the right place to find a sonic cleaner. Would you prefer to charge my account, or cash?"

"I have your details logged in for the cuffs, I'll put it on account. Take a look here," the Jeweler pointed to a rack of them. "A minute or so in the cleaner and they come up as if you'd paid for a polish."

Gil wandered over to the rack a little, and then smiled faintly at the Jeweler. "How about you just choose one, since this is your specialty? And put it on my account."

"Mr. Grissom, you make my job very easy," the Jeweler said unhesitatingly picking a reasonable sized box up. "This is powerful enough to deal with your job hazards -- and to clean muck off of most things. It's not dissimilar to some of the instruments I believe you use in your work," he said as he passed it over.

It was easy to take the box, trusting for all charges to be above board in the way he only would in his own house. "It's not so different than cleaning bullets, then...?"

"Very similar. You could probably do that on the highest setting but I don't want to hear about that if you do it," the Jeweler said punching in the charge details to an internal computer link. "It is a finely tuned piece of equipment calibrated for gem and precious metal cleansing. You probably have one in your morgue if the professional angle appeals."

"I'm sure our Coroner has somehow turned it into a coffee pot, but I don't doubt that you're right. So is everything settled?" As soon as he knew that the Jeweler had finish charging him, he was going to leave to head for the lab.

"Your account is charged and the transaction has been processed Mr. Grissom. Thank you for your business," the Jeweler said pleasantly. "I'll see you for your next increment."

He managed a smile while the man handed him a bag with a pre-boxed sonic cleaner in it. "Have a good day." It was easy to leave, easy to walk off. He didn't even know the names of most of the people he ran into so often in the House. Just in his department, just the ones he had to. 

It hadn't been that way in his previous House.

House Gerard had been small and selective and had run the Investigations department for the Imperial Guard for decades. No one had seriously considered that anyone would want to declare House War on such a specialist House, especially not House Braun whose interests had been up until that time firmly routed in the gambling and entertainment areas. But then Sam Braun had set his sights of becoming a Great House and for that he needed Imperial connections and legitimacy. Gil had woken up one morning to find a House War and a state of Emergency declared.

He lasted three days before he was formally abducted along with several others of his team. It was just as well because the time leading to the deadline had resulted in a bloody showdown as Philip Gerard became desperate and rigged the lab with explosives. It didn't do him or his House and affiliates any good.

The debt that the survivors -- the abducted Freemen and slaves, because those were all who'd really survived usefully -- owed the Imperial guard was heavy, and Sam Braun had bought out at least Gil's for him, 'kindly', and… It still weighed heavy around his wrists, comfortable and familiar as the cuffs he'd just had resized.

There was something safe in being associated with a House, and House Braun wasn't anywhere near to being one of the worst.

Greg would do well in it if the Challenge was won.

* * *

When everyone else in his shift started to trickle in to work, Gil had already been settled into his office for four hours. There had been that much paperwork for him to catch up on, since the balancing of bureaucratic forces was the least-entertaining part of his job. There was an investigation into rigged gambling books that he had to look at, but it wasn't going anywhere, and the evaluations for his employees…

Were. He had to put them in, and he'd had two weeks to do them already. Procrastination had served him well, since there was time to look through Catherine's recent reports and make note of which ones she'd done outstandingly in. They'd still need to talk, of course…

Talk. Talk was cheap when the actuality of his team's performance -- good or in need of improvement -- was in those reports, was in their records.

His conversation with Hodges had highlighted one thing in his mind. The different in an increment could have a profound difference on their living conditions. So he needed to find time to speak to all of them at some point as well as dealing with the night's crimes and investigations. Make sure that all of them were up on their training and see if there were any opportunities that met their needs and... Be a good supervisor. Gil sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. Well, as soon as they all showed up, or he could hunt them down one by one.

"You're in early," Catherine said, leaning on his open door. "Bucking for another increment, Gil?" She smiled at him.

"I had some time on my hands today." He opened his eyes, quirking an eyebrow at her. Catherine was always easy on the eyes, better kept than the rest of them. Her cuffs were almost always polished, and even when she was harried, she still carried a certain air of beauty. Ruffled beauty, and that was a thought that made him smile a little.

His mind did like to conjure up the most vivid images it possibly could, and there were a few of Catherine that came to mind. "And you're here... just on time. I need to do evaluations today."

"Time to earn that Supervisor bonus, huh?" Catherine stepped inside. "That makes me even gladder that I'm on time. Got to impress the boss."

"And that's a hard feat around here." Gil gestured for her to close the door behind her, and quickly dug out the evaluation that he'd already filled in for her. "I already looked over your recent files, Catherine, I'm up on the technical. What are your goals?"

"My goals? Aside from reducing my triples and getting time to see my daughter sometime?" Catherine shut the door and sat down, comfortable in Grissom's presence. "What's everyone's goals? To pay off someday, to get enough increments to go for the next level up. A shift supervisor maybe." She smiled at him. "Most of the other goals are personal."

"How are the divorce proceedings going...?" Gil tilted his head a little as he wrote down what he guessed he'd be writing down for everyone -- a note that they'd like advancement and a little less overtime.

"Eddie is... being Eddie." Catherine gave an almost predatory grin. "It should be a simple House severance, but he's trying to claim that proportionally he's paid more because his band level is lower than mine. It's complete crap but... he's trying it. He's hoping for less to be put on his buyout total." She looked at him. "Personal questions Gil? I'm impressed."

She would be, and that made the edge of his mouth twitch into a smirk as he eyed her. "What can I say? It's not just all of you who always need to try to improve your rough spots. Anything you particularly want noted in the comments section?"

"That maybe I feel I'm a ready for more responsibility and I have a lot of experience I can put to use," Catherine replied in her forthright manner. "So... how was my evaluation from your side?"

"I think you're ready for more responsibility and you have a lot of experience you can put to use." He was teasing her, but only a little. It was true, and that was why he wasn't going to let Sam Braun's request cheapen the reality of her capability. "I think the next big case we have, I'll do my job and supervise. Sign at the red X." 

He turned the sheet of paper around once he finished adding the comment, and offered her his slightly chewed on pen, cuffs catching the dull blue-white gleam of his desk light.

She scribbled her signature and looked up at him. "Looking to impress someone?" she said glancing at his cuffs. "Hot date?"

"With Hodges." He let the pause settle over her before he shook his head and chuckled. "No. I just got them resized, and the House jeweler took pity on me and cleaned them."

"For a moment I nearly thought about calling the House psych on you. Don't do that to me!" Catherine feigned shock. "Hodges... I don't even want to go there."

"Neither do I, but unfortunately I ran into him at the House jeweler so..." Now he acted like Gil was his best buddy, and would be puppy dogging after him tonight. Gil was up to trying to make light of things in his current mood, but wasn't up to openly annoying interaction. "It was apparently a bad day to chase after red tape. Could you send in whoever you happen to find first out in the hallway, Cath?"

"I think I saw Nicky out there trying to get Sanders to stop zooming around on his chair..." Catherine held up a hand. "Just don't ask okay? Long story and possibly involving too much coffee and painkillers."

Painkillers. Gil noted that, tucked it into his mind. "If you could grab both of them and send them in, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing. I'll do some more paperwork until we get our calls for the night," Catherine said getting up again. "Good luck, Gil. You'll need it with some of the lab."

Good luck. No, what he needed to do was coast through the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours and see how things were going to happen. "Thanks. I appreciate the warning."

She smiled again at him, in the easy friendly way that had occasionally led to a little more between them as friends often did, and then left the room.

It wasn't long before a slightly tousled looking Greg knocked hesitantly on his door. "Hey... uh.. hi? Catherine said you wanted to see me?" he said looking around almost as if he was expecting some sort of trap as he stepped inside.

"Yearly reviews." Greg looked almost healthy, even if he was still dealing with his most recent injury. Alive looked good on Greg, Gil decided, even if it was being facilitated by coffee and painkillers. "Pull up a chair."

"For a minute, I thought you were going to say something like, 'Sanders you're fired'," Greg replied looking relieved as he sat awkwardly and uncomfortably. "Called to the boss's office. Scary stuff." He grinned at him as if there was nothing in his life that had ever gone wrong.

And that was how it had gone on under their noses for such a long time. He was too good at being normal... no, not normal. That was not a good way of describing Greg; too good at being 'different' so that it was easy to be convinced.

Different, too happy, too... Something. Always too something so far in the other direction from actually hurt. It made Gil wonder what Greg was like, would be like, if he didn't have to use it as a mask. "I should hope it actually isn't. I've looked over your most recent cases already... Everything seems up to par. I'd like to see you get a few more increments in field work, and a couple of recent cases should qualify you for that once the paperwork has been processed through." 

Gil leaned back in his chair slightly, peeking at Greg's face over the top edge of the sheet of paper he was pretending to reread. There was a scrape on the side of Greg's face that disappeared into his sideburn. "Do you enjoy subcontracting here?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg grinned at him in the way that made it seem impossible for him to hold so many gem levels if only through age. "It's great! I get to help get the bad guys, do the truth and justice thing and play with gadgets all shift long. Who wouldn't want that?"

It was the best answer -- not the answer of 'I want to work myself free' or 'I want to advance' or even the 'the pay is great' that he knew he'd get from a few people, but real enthusiasm. Gil dropped his eyes, and picked up his pen to note a paraphrase of Greg's comment. "People who don't have as much fun as you did a couple of weeks ago with the flash paper. Any long-term goals you want to accomplish...?"

"Well, I'm not a long term sort of guy." He made that sound as if it were a choice. "But the fieldwork? I'd really like to get on that while I... have the opportunity."

"Well, the opportunity is always open here. Are you going somewhere...?" Gil managed a faint look at Greg as he set down the piece of paper.

Greg shook his head vigorously. "Not planning to, but..." He shrugged. "Things don't always turn out the way we plan right?"

Gil tented his fingers for a moment, toying with a handful of things he could reply with. It was a short moment, and Greg probably hadn't taken Gil's silence for anything in particular. "It's going to be okay, Greg. Things might not turn out the way we plan, but they often have a way of working out."

"I've heard that," Greg smiled a little tentatively, the implication that it had never been that way for him very obvious. 

"Sometimes the way of things just needs a helping hand..." Gil's pager started to buzz where it rested against his belt, and he held the evaluation out to Greg. "Here, look at that, sign at the bottom, ask me whatever questions you might have."

The blue LED screen was almost brighter than his desk light, easy to read. Brass, 419, trn on cell fkr.

Oh, it was going to be an interesting night all right.

Greg signed immediately. "I'm sure that everything is fine. And uh... I'm sorry about the other day. You know, breaking the test tube racks. I just sort of lost my balance a moment."

Gil shifted, and pulled his cell phone out of his other pocket. Of course the very act of turning it off meant that ten people probably realized they had urgently needed to call him. "I know. It's nowhere on the evaluation. It was an easy enough clean up. Do you feel up to some fieldwork tonight?"

"Fieldwork? Sure!" Greg looked wired at the suggestion. It was plain he would make himself up to it one way or the other. "Working a case like Nick and Warrick do?"

Gil held up his pager for a moment while he stood, and let Greg see the screen. "When Jim curses on my beeper, it's usually an interesting body dump. I can't guarantee that it'll be exciting, but..."

"I'm cleared up on the DNA samples. I was picking up some on trace so just a change of scenery would be a breath of fresh air," Greg said enthusiastically. The sheer amount of time he must have spent at work to actually process the backlog of DNA requests was something to make anyone pause for thought. It was almost as if he barely left work. Or at least if he could help it.

Two days. Less now, and for all Gil knew, Sam Braun meant maybe less than two days. Gil flipped open his cell phone, and slid Greg's evaluation into the folder with Catherine's. Four missed messages, all of them from Jim.

It was probably a decomp. Brass had no stomach for that. He flipped through the address book, and dialed. "How long have you been here already?"

"I came in a little early," Greg looked away a little. "Wanted to finish up on Sara's identity theft DB. Matched her eventually on the Imperial register. I don't get why an Imperial was presenting as a Pleasure Slave in one of the worst House areas of Vegas... I mean, that area is not for the kiddies, you know?"

"Maybe that was why she was there, Greg." Gil had been about to say more, but he could hear Brass turning on his phone. He'd hardly gotten out the 'Br' part when Gil cut in. "Jim, it's Grissom. Do we get directions to the 419?"

"Do you need directions in how to turn on your phone?" Jim sounded a little testy. "I've got a body in a kid's park, buried in sand. Only a few hours cold, tops."

"Buried in the sandbox? Give me the location and we'll be out there ASAP." He reached for a pen, and another sheet of paper. It was easy to scrawl out 'tell the slackers in the break room that I'll be there with their sheets in a minute'.

Greg grinned as he took the piece of paper and headed out of Grissom's office towards the break room. 

Nothing like an interesting case to liven up a day; Gil smiled to himself as he wrote down the directions, and then listened to Brass give him the heads up on a couple of other cases. In short order, he had the assignment sheets for the night in hand and stalked to the break room to give them out. He could finish getting through evaluations later.

Warned by Greg, Nick and Warrick were gently teasing their DNA tech about going into the field with Grissom, even as Sara chose that moment to get a cup of coffee. Catherine was leafing through some odd pieces of paperwork, grinning at Warrick who was telling their trainee a few stories. "....you gotta be careful, because I had this one time? I had a DB showing toxicity and asphyxiation signs? So I moved her head and opened her mouth. And this mother of all black widow spiders crawled out."

Greg stared. "You're kidding me, right? Guys? He's kidding?"

"You wish," Nick grinned. "We've found pretty much everything in DB's mouths, from rats to snakes to-"

"Sexual organs to plain old food, to the occasional black widow spider. The one Warrick mentions is mounted on my office wall. I'll be trying to do evaluations today, around case schedules, so you might not all get to go home at the strike of eight, all right?" Gil offered a sheet to Warrick. "Sara, I want you to be ready to testify on that ID fraud case. Touch base with the Guard in charge, there's mention that the court date is being stepped up. Catherine, Warrick…"

"Uh-huh?" Warrick turned and looked at him as Catherine put her papers together. "Got something interesting for us?"

"Robbery at a buyout business," Gil told them as he held the sheet out. "One of the owners was making a bank deposit, and was shot and robbed on his way there."

"Sounds reasonably straightforward," Catherine said intercepting the sheet with a smile at Grissom and Warrick. "So you get Nick right?"

"Best behavior, man," Warrick warned with a half smile.

Nick snorted and gave Warrick a look. "Whatever, man. Good luck. So I get to go to the DB with you guys?"

"It sounded like it might need more than two people to work it. Greg, grab your kit and your camera."

"Cool." Greg said and moved with enough speed to dart off down to his lab to get his equipment to show that he was genuinely enthusiastic about going out in the field.

"You're going to survive Hurricane Greg on a crime scene?" Sara asked even as she got up as well.

Gil wandered over to the coffee pot, reaching for the travel mug he took with him. It was always worth leaving in the Tahoe because the desert nights were deceptively cold, and working a scene was deceptively tiring. "He's shown an interest in wanting to do more field work, and we can always use the help."

"Well as long as there are no racks of test tubes handy, you should be safe," Sara commented. "Or anything fragile." She pushed her sleeves up absently, showing the glitter of her cuffs for a brief moment as if by accident as she put her cup on the side. "If anyone needs me, I'll be reviewing evidence."

On her way out, she had to brush past Greg, who seemed to have been standing in the door silently. It wasn't likely he was fast enough to get down there and back in time to hear her comments but...

But. But Gil knew what Sara was doing, trying to do. She'd had trouble adjusting to the house change, and trouble adjusting to Vegas, and trouble adjusting to Gil, well...

He filled the mug three-fourths of the way up with coffee, added a little creamer and sugar, then screwed the lid on. "Man, must be that time of the month for her," Nick sighed. "I've got my kit in the car, Griss -- you want me to take Greg, or...?"

"Hey, I don't want to put anyone out," Greg replied in a more subdued voice. "It's okay. I can find my own way there or stay in the lab, whatever. Whatever is best for you guys."

Gil turned slightly, and cocked an eyebrow at Greg. "Greg. You're doing your job. No one is being put out. Nick, I want you to follow me, all right? I'll take Greg."

The other Investigator nodded. "Sure thing, Griss," he said as moved out.

Greg moved in closer to Grissom and allowed a hesitant grin to reemerge. "Come on." Gil hated having to be careful, having to keep in the back of his mind that people needed to be handled better than he naturally handled them. He'd irked most of them at one time or another.

But at least Catherine and Warrick and Nick... He could guess what he'd done wrong, even if he might make the same mistake again. Sara was unpredictable. "I know you worked that bus accident with Nick a few months ago."

"Yeah, yeah. The pagers said everyone come in with metal and above and...." Greg glanced down at the cuffs he usually kept pretty hidden from sight out of some bizarre habit. "And even though I don't have much on working in the field, I tried to help out." He looked worried a moment. "I don't know how much help I was. I mostly took his notes."

"Sometimes, that's plenty of help. It was a busy scene." Gil pushed open the back door of the department, and half-held it open for Greg. His own kit was still in the back of his vehicle, and all that Gil was carrying was the assignment sheet and his travel mug.

Greg was limping slightly as he paced him, pushing through. "Well I don't want to screw up anything, especially on a DB."

"We all have to start somewhere. Do you think I was born knowing how to work a crime-scene?" It was hard not to smirk a little when he said that, if just because he knew some people had certainly shared that opinion before.

"Well, yeah actually," Greg grinned. "I have this mental image of Baby Grissom in diapers waving a swab around. If I tested your DNA, I bet there would be some sort of Investigator pair of alleles there." He peeked a little bit up and sideways at Grissom, obviously checking to see if the other man thought he was a complete idiot.

"It might be a scientific breakthrough," Gil smirked faintly as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. "What I'm trying to say is that all of us make mistakes, and should be constantly learning new things in the field. Sara… occasionally forgets that fact. And it's going to reflect on her evaluation."

Greg looked alarmed. "You're going to mark her down because of.... Hey, no she had a good point. I can be pretty clumsy and I'd hate to screw things up with a stupid mistake."

He had obviously heard a fair portion of what had been said.

"What she said in the break room isn't a solitary incident, Greg." Gil paused a moment to unlock the car, and gestured gently for Greg to go around the side and get in the passenger side.

"I thought Warrick said he wasn't going to..." Greg saw Grissom's face and tried to cover by fumbling for the door. "Uh, never mind. Right, well Sara's ...Sara, right?"

Warrick wasn't going to tell Gil something. Something which he clearly hadn't told Gil. Something that probably had to do with Sara. "That's no excuse for having that attitude." Gil waited until Greg had gotten in the Tahoe with him, and the doors were closed, until he started up the engine. Greg's kit was department issued, and he hadn't done much to make it his own, unlike most of them.

"She's good at what she does," Greg replied rather obscurely defending her, absently massaging at the thigh muscles on his left leg as he fastened the seat-belt and stowed the kit.

Gil half-checked to see that he was settled in, then twisted to look behind him as he backed up. "No one is debating that. But you see, as a supervisor, I have to make sure that everyone does their jobs and allows others to do the same."

"She hasn't stopped me doing mine," Greg said, seemingly determined to make sure she wasn't blamed for anything. "DNA is rocking. Backlog done, place under control."

"She's giving you a hard time unnecessarily. Investigating isn't a competitive sport." Gil stayed with his arm over the back of Greg's chair for a moment, and then turned around once he'd backed out of the spot. He could see the headlights of Nick's Denali across the parking lot, ready to follow them.

Greg smiled a little at that and looked like he was going to blurt a comment and then hastily edited it. "Right. Got it. Just as well, because I suck at competitive sports."

"Most of us do. That's why we're going to look at a dead body instead of asleep or getting ready for a League game, mm?" The smile that he caught sight of in the rear view mirror before he adjusted it was nice, and small talk was suspiciously easy to make with Greg.

"Yeah. Hey, you remember that League game a few months where they discovered an unregistered Meta on the team?" Greg asked just talking easily and about anything that jumped into his head. "They practically evacuated the stadium."

"I bet the investigation team in Dallas had a great time figuring out how he'd gone so long without being tagged as a Meta." To say that a Meta-human in normal league sport unevened the odds was an understatement. There were so many types and kinds, and even if he hadn't been a spectacular Meta, if he was unregistered there was the risk inherent of not having knowledge of what he was capable of doing.

Or she. Gil still remembered when one had been discovered in House Braun's Pleasure Slaves.

A teleporter, she'd turned out to be -- a fact only discovered when she had been performing duties uncuffed and reacted instinctively to an emergency. Next thing they knew, there had been an Imperial Abduction before Sam Braun had chance to move her to a high security House facility, and though he'd tried, getting her back within the time limit from the Imperial forces was pretty much impossible.

Last he'd heard, she was a Imperial Military Slave Meta, and most likely would be that for the rest of her life. Hell of a change from Pleasure Slave to Military Assassin.

"Well, a lot of genetic conditions need certain conditions or body development to kick in, you know? Or an interaction between environmental factors to demonstrate any measurable effect." Greg replied. "This talk about the Imperial Law 14 and genetic code scanning at birth for Meta-genes is ridiculous. Meta-states can come out of interaction of gene pairs not just one Meta-gene identifier." He was surprisingly animated. "And where do you draw the line? I mean would being really really intelligent become regarded as a Meta-state? If not... how is it any different to stopping an unfair advantage over an arbitrary genetic normal?"

"I think as it is, Greg, the line is pretty clear cut. Passing through walls is fairly different than being naturally strong or smart. It's a leap above and beyond." Gil cleared his throat slightly. "And, we're really in no position to make decisions about it."

"Yes, but to them, what they do is natural," Greg frowned. "Though I did hear there was experimentation with some sort of Meta-genic agent. I just think people freak about the danger that some Metas pose too much. Because... being condemned to no buy out ever because you can... I don't know, change the color of your hair at will is overkill. I can understand it for the big names, you know?"

"So where do you draw the line between small names and big names?"

"Well... Kal-El of House Wayne? Obviously if he went off the deep end, we're talking serious threat to the world," Greg said. "Or the Spiderman of House Osbourn even. He could do damage. But there's no way of distinguishing between them and those declared 'Meta' who have minor abilities. There should be some sort of process." It was making the car journey go quickly at least.

Greg was more entertaining to listen to than the radio.

Gil glanced in the rearview, and made sure that Nick was still behind them, roughly, before he glanced to make sure he was turning down the right street. Traffic was still a little heavy, and there was a red light up ahead. "I'm sure that there is. There's a process for everything, after all."

"No... no, see everyone thinks that, but there isn't," Greg replied with animated fervor. "It really boils down to a binary judgment. Are they a Meta? Yes, No? The stability mentally speaking doesn't really come into it. I mean, everyone's seen a few interviews with Kal-El and... he's just not the type of guy to go off on a loop, you know? But then you have others with a lesser talent who's predisposition to instability would make them far more dangerous to the public." He seemed to realize he was babbling a bit. "Sorry. I get a bit... carried away."

"You're more than allowed to. Everyone has an opinion on something, and I have to say that you make a very good argument. I have some opinions about House Wars that probably run opposite of most people." It was an interesting thing, and it left Gil wondering if, maybe somewhere along the line, Greg had known someone tagged Meta.

"Yeah?" Greg looked at him with a genuine interest. "What's that?"

"Well, just as much as I'm sure you'd like a hand in setting limitations on who's a Meta, I'd like there to be some changes to at what point a Freeman can be pulled into a House War."

"Oh yeah. Catherine told me you paid out early and got pulled in again," Greg said sounding sympathetic. "Does... it make it worse having been free and being back in it?"

The steering wheel was comfortable to grip at. He'd been driving that vehicle for about three years now, and he'd worn the leather shiny in spots. Gil's hands clutched a little, and he knew Greg couldn't see the gesture in the lack of light. "Yes and no."

"See, I would have expected a 'shit, yeah' there," Greg replied frankly. "You get Freeman privileges and have to give them back. I can't even imagine that. "

"I try not to. I'm probably going to die before I'm able to buy out again. And to be honest, I did the same thing when I was free as I do now. This is the best job ever."

"Yeah," Greg agreed with that. "Guess we're in the same boat. Helps to have a job that you really like."

"It does. How many years until you buy out?" Greg was smart, and Gil had done it himself while relatively young. 

Greg looked uncomfortable and shrugged. "Uh... I probably won't," he admitted after a moment. "It's kind of a weird deal."

"How weird?" Gil tipped his head a little, making it clear that Greg had his attention despite that his eyes were on the road.

"My folks were ocean-runners. Hopped the Atlantic from Norway before I was born." He shrugged again. "You know what happens with that sort of thing."

People ended up in bad houses like House Wesker. 'Traditional', which Gil thought was a thinly veiled way to say abusive or occasionally criminally stupid. "Yes, but there's always some chance for advancement..."

"My... Poppa Olaf, my grandfather got sick and...." Greg swallowed a little. "I did a deal saying I would work his debt if they would let him be bought out by a House with decent medical care. They were going to let him die so they jumped at it. I'm... possibly their highest single legitimate earner."

Not for long. Of course, if he said anything to Greg, and it fell through... He didn't want to get his hopes up. Not by accident. "I'm going to pretend 'legitimate' was a slip of the tongue."

Greg smiled a little. "Yeah. Slip of the tongue."

"It will get better, Greg." Gil leaned to look a little left, and caught sight of flashing lights. "And here's our scene..."

Greg's expression as he looked at the scene showed very clearly that he thought Grissom didn't have a clue but he thought the optimism was a nice touch. "Right. What do you want me to do? Take notes?"

Gil drove up onto the grass, and parked about twenty five feet back from the scene, taking in the sight of the cop cars around the taped-off playground sets. "Process."

"Process. Right." Greg was giving him a lot of uncertain looks. "I'll just.... process." He waited for the cars to come to a halt and got himself and his kit out of the Tahoe, banging his leg and treating Gil to some mumbled Norwegian swearing as he straightened up.

"Hey. We've got a body in a sandbox tonight?"

Gil paused and reached into the back to get his kit and his flashlight out. "Yes. Now let me look at the scene and we'll see how we're going to tackle it."

Brass was looking a little more svelte then he had been a few months before when an Imperial physical put him on a hated diet and physical training program or risk him losing his annual Freeman bonus. Jim decided misery loved company and had dragged Grissom in on the effort, even though no one was going to complain if he couldn't chase down a suspect.

Lack of donut sugar made Jim a little more irritable than usual, and it made Grissom smile as the three Investigators assembled at the edge of the sand pit, examining their options. The victim's face was half exposed, as if she had just laid down to sleep there, and pulled a blanket of sand to curl over her body.

Gil started to circle around the victim, flashlight skimming over the ridges and edges of the sand, touching where footprints and hand prints had packed down the sand. It was heaped up around her. "Jim? We need lights set up around the perimeter. Nicky..."

"Body dump," Nick tsked as he looked at it. "Too perfect, too clean a site."

"Who found her?" Greg asked, hanging back just a bit until one of the others instructed him where to go and what to do.

"Two kids making out in the park after dark. They're from House Wynn, and finding a body wasn't in their plans for this evening," Jim noted. "Thousands of square miles of desert, and someone chooses here to dump her."

"Textbook. David? I want this one special processed once we get her out."

"Yes, sir," the coroner nodded and stepped away even as Gil got out his high powered flashlight and started examining the area very carefully.

Greg moved closer to Nick, watching Grissom in process. "What's he doing?" he asked in what he thought was a low voice.

"Thinking," Nick whispered. It made Gil's mouth quirk a little; it wasn't quite worth acknowledging. There were no boot or shoe prints that he could see.

"Ah." Greg was quiet for a little longer. "How long does the 'thinking' usually take?"

"Until I've worked out how to get to the evidence without actually destroying it." Greg didn't have time to feel chastised, because Nick murmured something to him with real quiet for once.

Gil heard the words 'tar' and 'face' and grimaced internally at the memory of the look on Catherine's face after he'd accidentally collapsed that DB's skull.

He heard an, "Oh," and then Greg fell silent again, his eyes darting around picking up details and trying to stay alert for when he was needed.

"Nicky? Greg? We're going to need mesh screens and buckets." They'd have to go carefully, and work a little wider than he'd have preferred in another substance. Maybe eight inches out from her, and hopefully the sand would slough away from her body, taking little evidence with it.

"There's a whole lot of sand to sift, Greggo," Nick said. "I've got some that we can start with in my car."

Greg looked at him mildly astonished. "You keep mesh screen on you? But..."

"You just learn to be prepared, man." Nicky laughed, and that was a good sound to hear while Gil knelt down outside of the perimeter. He could hear clanking, the high powered lights that they'd need being set up. It was easier to work in the dark than it was to wait for light to come and heat to rot their victim.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Ordinarily, Sam Braun did not negotiate with his House members for a Challenge. They had to be submitted through the proper channels, assessed by lawyers, and usually a profit and loss equation determined whether they were worth going for.

Ordinarily, even Sam Braun steered clear of House Wesker for all they were a smaller less successful House. They were more brutal in their politics and in the event of a House War, less likely to play the game on subtleties and rampage roughshod, killing every member they could find of their opposing house. Conservation of resources was not a watchword of theirs. He'd had regular assessments done on his contractors as a matter of course, and he recognized the name Greg Sanders. High Status but not recommended for Challenge because of the nature of his House. Too much risk.

However, when Gil Grissom defied convention and came to him, he saw an opening for opportunity. The man, even though he didn't realize it, had put himself in the position of providing a willing 'favor' that would net him the goodwill of a very powerful Imperial Judge. That was something he absolutely had to have if he was to get his House named as a Great House and have access to the Imperial Court.

He had toyed with ordering Grissom as one of his House-bonded Slaves to perform as he wished, which was his right, but for it to really work, it had to be willing. His apparent grudging munificence had been a sham. Beneath the canny exterior, Sam had been snapping at the bait, just as he hoped this dignitary would when he outed it to him. He certainly looked bored enough at this function that he would be interested in anything.

"Judge Millander, I haven't seen you since... when was it? The conference at the Rampart. How are you?"

Paul had a faint smile, and he lowered his glass of wine down for a second. He'd been milling around, clinging to the walls in between bouts of quiet polite hellos between his drinks. "I'm well, Mr. Braun. You look healthy."

"I'd say clean living, but that would be a lie," Sam replied with a smile. "These functions usually make me want to catch up on my rest."

He would have declined the invitation completely if he hadn't heard Paul Millander was on the guest list. "I must congratulate you on managing to put the Peacecraft-Khushrenada House War to bed. That adjudication has been going on years."

"Closest one yet. Two points more in favor of House Peacecraft." Millander finished off his drink and casually passed it off on a waiter who was walking by. "I was frankly tired of seeing them in my court."

"I don't blame you. I believe my Investigator team contributed to that decision?" Sam asked directing the conversation as naturally as possible.

"Once they got around to freeing up Mr. Grissom for a consultancy." There was a slowness to the way he said that, that made Sam feel faintly uneasy. Gil worked in that court a lot because Sam wanted to put his best foot forward in Imperial matters. His best team players, and he held up on the stand before House lawyers in ways that even Catherine was a little shaky about.

Well, Catherine was young. She'd have that kind of experience soon. "How is your Investigations lab?"

"Doing well. Targets more than met." he smiled congenially. "Gil is rather impressive. I seem to remember you commenting on that when we were having a few drinks at the Rampart." He tried to make the comment light as if it didn't matter too much.

But it did. It was baiting, sure, but it was more subtle than having Gil delivered chained up with a bow around his neck to the Judge's front door. He was sure that would please some level of the man's odd sense of humor.

Millander smiled faintly, something playing behind his dark blue eyes before he replied. He was a hard man to read, because he seemed genial enough, perpetually open to conversation. "I guess that was a few too many drinks."

Sam tilted his drink as if half accusing it of being responsible by alcoholic association. "For curiosity's sake, how serious were you?"

There was that something again. "Very."

"It happens that Mr. Grissom owes me a... favor," Sam smiled at him again. "I'm not... interested in collecting personally from him, but I would hate to lose out on the debt."

He had him. Sam could tell from the way Millander's eyes dropped a little, contemplating some distant point, that he had the man. "I see. How much debt are you talking about...?"

"Significant," Braun replied having to be careful about this. If he underplayed it, then the commensurate favor owed back if Millander was interested would be meaningless. "Enough to provide you with perhaps the... reality of certain ideas you expressed."

They were certainly things that Sam had no interest in himself. He liked his ladies, both just to look at and to have sex with. There hadn't been any time in Sam's life where he'd looked at another man and thought 'I'd like to fuck that'.

Not even drag queens, though one of his boys had made it a running joke to try to trick Sam. It wouldn't ever work, not when he was a connoisseur of women. Of course, Millander had expressed interest in Gil that was far from prurient.

His eyebrows went up a little. "Really."

Braun took a shot more of his drink. "Really. Naturally I thought of you, otherwise I would have found some other way to collect."

Otherwise, he wouldn't have made the deal at all. Of course, there was clearly some less-than professional interest that Gil had about that Sanders kid, and wouldn't that just make the situation more interesting?

"So you're... seriously planning to extend that to me?"

"Let's be honest here, Paul," Sam said dropping his voice into a low friendly tone. "The goodwill and connections of an Imperial Judge with a reputation like yourself would be... useful to House Braun. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. Though I didn't plan or arrange for this to happen, when an opportunity comes my way I'm willing to make use of it. Otherwise House Braun wouldn't be the dominant House in Vegas. It's a serious offer... if you're interested."

"You run your businesses and your House with admirable cleanliness." Millander shifted his stance, and slipped his hands comfortably into his pants pockets. "I'm interested, Sam. I've always admired your House's even handed ruthlessness. I want this to be worth my while, though."

"What did you have in mind?" Sam asked on more familiar ground now with negotiations.

Millander gestured with his eyebrows, before he wandered over towards the far wall. "I'd like to have him as a Personal for long enough to make any training worth the effort. Two, three weeks?"

"I can agree to a Personal. From what I recall, his increments there are basic, though I believe his theory was excellent," Braun replied. "But I can't afford for him to be out of action for two or three weeks. A week maximum and that's stretching it. He learns swiftly."

"With the possibility of more," Paul cut in. "I don't really care what his increments are in the area. Sometimes a beautiful mind is more than enough."

"One week, Judge. One 'willing' week where he will apply himself as a Personal. With no permanent damage." He raised his eyebrows. "I won't jeopardize one of my best people. But if he should ask for more favors, then yes... the possibility for future arrangements."

Millander's eyebrows crawled up a little. "Why would I permanently damage him? I'll have to work with him on a semi-regular basis afterwards."

"I've known enthusiasm to get the better of even the most experienced gambler when they finally get what they want," Braun replied in a relaxed tone. "And I admit, most of the people I deal with don't have such refined tastes as yourself."

Refined. Hopefully Millander wouldn't read deeper into the remark, though he had some thoughts about just what kind of refinement Millander had. After all, not many men actually claimed Death-Marks. It was good for society of course, but he remembered when his Lab had been investigating one Death-Mark claiming that had been staged as a suicide. Catherine had expressed nothing but astonishment that all of that work had just been for a Death-Mark that they hadn't been sure was real at first.

Paul smiled at him. "I promise to return your property in fine shape."

"Gil Grissom has an international reputation; I was luckier than I ever have been at the roulette wheel to have him in House by a quirk of fate," Sam Braun commented. "So. When would be convenient for you?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and pulled away to snag a fresh drink from one of the circulating waiters. "I have some personal time off of the circuit starting the day after tomorrow." Reward for settling that long-fought war between Peacecraft and Khushrenada, Sam knew. "Is that convenient for you?"

"I believe that will be just fine..." Sam said thoughtfully. Even with the dire threat of an ass-kicking from the dizzy heights of his office, they wouldn't be able to put together a Challenge bid before three days. Once issued, the combat -- and he knew House Wesker would opt for combat as they couldn't compete on finances, or intellectual Challenge -- could be called at any time. That would be long enough to see if Grissom was falling in with the plan. "I'll inform Mr. Grissom of your... request. Anything specific you want me to send him with?"

"Send him with?"

"Equipment? Clothing? We have a very well stocked and developed Training area. Our current Lady Courtesan is... inventive." Sam twitched an amused smile. "She has an excellent reputation among other Houses. We often hold master classes and seminars."

That brought a smirk to the edges of Paul's mouth. "Maybe some sufficient restraints and a Personal collar."

"I'll ask him to see her and bring something suitable with him," Sam replied smiling back feeling the rush of a deal closing. "It's in my interest to ensure that you're well pleased with this arrangement after all."

"Oh, I'm sure that I'll be very well pleased. Contact me when he's ready, mm? I'm being waved at by Wynn's asinine wife."

Sam Braun nodded. "A pleasure talking to you, Judge Millander," he said stepping away. "You're right, we should... mingle."

He would be leaving as soon as possible now he had accomplished what he came here to do. It might be a little awkward for Grissom, but the man had asked for a favor, and Sam Braun knew he would see it through just as he'd always known who would fold and who would bluff.

There would be no regrets from his side of the bargain. No matter what, he won all the way around.

Paul nodded back faintly, and then headed off, taking another sip of his wine.

New technician who wouldn't be coming in to work beat up, all in all a good house acquisition, and Catherine's promotion, and the favor of a judge. And maybe it would knock Grissom down a notch, since he was the kind of man who'd try to personally request a Challenge.

The House always won their bets.

* * *

The morgue was definitely Robbins's domain, and he did sometimes like to play to an audience. Right now, he had three of the team's Investigators hanging on his every word. "She died two to four hours before she was discovered," he said. "The jury is still out on cause of death, but considering the whip and ligature marks and the fact that there's evidence of scar tissue, I'd be tempted to say she was a Pleasure Slave in maybe one of the fetish Houses."

"If she'd died there and it was known about, we wouldn't be investigating her at a city park," Gil pointed out. "Have any Houses reported a missing or possible runaway yet?"

"It's a bit soon," Nick replied even as Greg leaned over to take a close look at the body

"Isn't she kind of high maintenance for a standard Pleasure Slave?" Greg said leaning in closer and widening his eye at the sight of artificially perky breasts making a mockery of the flaccidity of death. He nodded at them, "I mean some of the Houses might spring for those puppies, but they don't usually put out for the manicure, pedicure and full beauty treatment." He looked around suddenly a little embarrassed. "Uh, sorry."

Gil cocked an eyebrow at Greg, and let his mind wander a little. "And she does look like she was lavished in care. So, Greg... She has manicured fingers and toes, bruising that's blossomed post mortem, scars... Al, do we have any signs of rape here?"

"Well, that's the strange thing," the coroner replied. "She hasn't had sexual intercourse in some time... which is pretty odd for a Pleasure Slave."

"That's more a hard-line Personal," Greg put in again. "It's not necessarily about the sex."

Greg was a little too-too familiar with that, but Gil stayed intrigued about the extra knowledge. "Huh. So a Personal slave that hasn't had sex in a while, who somehow ended up dead in a sandbox. Which means accidental death, a very unlikely situation."

Nick was watching them both as he agreed. "We can find out who she is through the implants. Catherine told me they're all serialized. Some Houses put trackers in them. Can we get one of them, Al?"

He smirked faintly, and gestured with his scalpel at each while he spoke. "Left or right?"

"Dealer's choice," Nick replied treating Greg to a quiet grin. "Greg here's got some results on your trace, Grissom. Should be about done now, right?"

"Yeah." Greg perked up at the attention. "Yeah, I left them running."

"I'm sure that Hodges has gotten into them now." It struck Gil, then, that it was Greg's first autopsy -- even if they'd missed the cutting, it didn't seem to bother him. Not even an aborted attempt to vomit when Robbins started to slice through dead flesh to excise one saline implant. "The metal sliver I found goes along with the fetish Personal slave theory."

"That sparkly stuff you found on the body should be processed now," Greg said helpfully even as Al peeled back the fat around one breast and pulled out the sack. He rinsed it off. 

"All yours, Nick."

"Great. Now I just have to wait for the local plastic surgeons to drag their asses out of bed." Nick waited for Al to finish screwing on the plastic lid. 

"Nicky, start looking for what doctor had purchased that breast, and then I want you to meet me in your office for your review. Greg..." Gil turned away from Al as he closed up the breast, settling the now noticeably smaller breast together before he re-stitched it. "Let's see about that 'sparkly stuff'."

"Gotcha," Nick nodded even as Greg started heading out toward the lab and Al exchanged a look with Grissom that spoke volumes about how surprised he was that Greg's autopsy virginity had passed without a murmur or even an abortive heave.

Gil could only raise his eyebrows a little, and give his friend a rolling shrug of his shoulders before he followed after Greg. It didn't take much to catch up with him in the hallway. 

"For your first autopsy, you reacted better than I was expecting.:"

"Not as bad as I thought," Greg replied, limping a little bit more noticeably as they walked. "I was worse at the crash site, I think."

"Maybe. Most Investigators throw up at their first autopsy." He broached that gently, peering at Greg as he well into step with him.

"It was my first... formal autopsy," Greg replied deliberately not looking at him as he turned the corner towards his lab. "I've seen similar stuff before."

"People laid out on metal slabs and cut up?" Gil tilted his head a little.

"In a manner of speaking," Greg shrugged. "One of the Weskers is a Death-Mark hunter." It didn't explain exactly how he was there to know about it, but it explained some of it. Perhaps Greg was just saying that he had to clear up afterwards.

"Really?" Gil wondered which one hunted the Death-Marks. The kind of people who did that, well. Just weren't his type of person. Killing was killing to Gil, House War or not, Death-Marked or not. It wasn't what he liked to do or see.

It was what he liked to investigate and find out facts about. "A person fairly high in the house?"

Greg nodded but didn't elaborate as he stepped into the lab and reach over to his computer. "And we have a result from the library. Tempered steel with aluminum coating for the metal, and... tree sap, ammonia and water."

Tree sap ammonia and water? Some kind of gum thing, or... "So, it was rubbery?" The sand could have leeched at the pliability of it, Gil supposed.

"Liquid Latex," Greg declared with a air of certainty and a hint of familiarity.

"Liquid... Latex?" Huh, like latex paint, which really didn't ever stand up to wear and tear like the commercials said.

"You haven't heard of it?" Greg looked up at him his eyes bright. "It's all the craze right now, guys paint it on girls, girls paint it on guys... you can even paint it on yourself wanna, if that what you're into and you can't raise the bucks for a Pleasure Slave." He trailed off. "Like I would know." 

Gil smirked faintly to himself. "It's cheaper than a Pleasure Slave, if that's what you're into. So... Liquid latex. Metal. Scars. Well tended girl with teeth, toes and nails all intact. I think that the breast Nicky has will lead him to a fetish Personal in one of the better Houses."

"Sounds about right," Greg nodded. " Chains and liquid latex and no sex is more about the Personals rather than Pleasure Slaves, though the boundaries sort of overlap sometimes." He was giving too much away, and every now and then he seemed to realize it. "So... uh, what's next? Go bug Nick?"

"We wait." Gil's eyebrows went up a little. "Take a lunch break, get comfortable. We'll be pulling a double."

"Cool, " Greg nodded. "Looks like Catherine and Warrick have been in. I'll put their stuff through."

The offer he'd been about to make about lunch died on his tongue, and he inclined his head slightly. Another day, another twenty four hours, give a little, take a little. "Take it easy, Greg. You did good work tonight. I'll make note of it."

The younger man leaned on the side and looked up at him genuine effortless smile. "Does that go in my evaluation?"

"Under 'taking preliminary steps towards gem certifications in field work'." Gil took the case folder with the Trace details in hand, and tapped it lightly against his thigh. Time to go or he'd seem more suspicious than he already did. Gil glanced over the top of Greg's workspace, and then turned away.

"Grissom?" Greg waited until he was nearly at the door. "Uh... thanks. For the field training and this case."

"Don't thank me for giving you more work than you usually have." Gil gave a faint wave before he headed back to his office. He could fill out the rest of the evaluations, and wait for Nick to get them a name and a residence.

Once that happened, they wouldn't have time to break for a while.

* * *

If there was the one problem about working night shift, it was working around the normal people, the people who got out of bed at seven a.m., made breakfast, and then rolled into work around eight or nine and started their day when Gil's team was already haggard and worn and edging up on coffee poisoning.

It was the waiting, the catching up on backlog and making sure that all the Is were dotted and the Ts were crossed that made the waiting bearable. Well, that and finishing up evals. 

Nick's evaluation was generally reasonably easy to do. He had a calm and easy presence that made him second to none when dealing with distressed people on scene but he was still trying to do things the 'Grissom Way' as opposed to finding his own.

It made Gil's mouth compress as he looked over at Nick across from him at the desk. There were the stock questions, but they could be pretty revealing about his team. "What're your long-term goals, Nick?"

"My long term goals? For my brothers and sisters to start earning themselves out," Nick replied still smiling. "Otherwise, I want to be trusted to work a DB alone. Get that experience. I've got pretty much the same increments as Sara... but..."

Gil could see Nick's smile falter, and he adjusted his reading glasses slightly as he sat back in his chair. Being farsighted was an interesting curse, and the best excuse ever for dealing with as little paperwork as possible in his life. "You'll get the experience when you're ready for it."

"But I've done things the way you've set out, I've got a load of experience. If I'm not ready, I... can't see why I'm not ready," Nick said, with the nearest thing to sounding a little put out that he could muster. He obviously felt strongly about it.

And of course he would. It was his career and his hopes and dreams. Of course he'd feel strongly about it. "Nicky, repeat after me. Cuff, cuff, cuff."

Nick did so. "Cuff cuff cuff...?"

Gil formed his next question carefully. "How does satin feel?"

Nick replied immediately and instinctively "Roug--" And then he realized what he had said. "No, smooth."

Gil tipped his head slightly. "You've been getting better, Nicky. But you're still not quite..."

It was hard not to stop mid-sentence when his phone beeped softly, vibrating slightly in his pocket. "That's probably Brass. Could you look over my comments and then sign at the bottom?"

The chagrinned Investigator nodded. "Sure," he said, sounding a little subdued. He was busy reading even as Grissom answered the phone.

"Grissom." He hadn't taken the time to look at Caller ID, but of course it was Brass. It was ten a.m. Who else would be calling him then?

~"Mr. Grissom, Sam Braun, regarding our discussion..."~ The Head of House Braun spoke with authority that demanded his attention.

Gil turned his back to Nicky then, and walked a few paces away to inspect some of the things he had mounted on his office wall. Certificates and insects that were carefully preserved, delicate carapaces pinned carefully. Some of them were so old that they'd probably crumble if he removed the glass and touched his fingers over oil-slick glimmery shells.

"Yes, sir?"

~"You'll take leave effective from the end of the shift. Tonight you'll go to the Lady Courtesan of House Braun. I've arranged this. Judge Paul Millander is taking the favor for me. For seven days, you'll be his willing Personal Bond-Slave understand? He's expressed an interest in you in the past. This will clear your debt for the Challenge."~

"The..." Gil's perspective slipped out from under his feet for a moment, and he almost had to remember to breath. "This current shift, or the one that just ended?"

~"The one that just ended."~ Sam Braun replied. ~"Seven days of cooperation for the well-being of Greg Sanders. He'll do well in House Braun."~

Seven days of cooperation with Imperial Judge Millander, after he visited the Lady Courtesan. A Personal Bond slave. Fuck. Fuck, and if Nicky weren't there, he might have let himself have some physical reaction.

Except he couldn't. Couldn't hit anything, couldn't do anything but breathe and look at his bugs and not say anything. "I agree. Thank you for your time, sir."

~"You're welcome Gil. I'm sure you'll cooperate fully. I've cleared the time off, so don't worry about that."~

"I appreciate that, too. I'll..." He tipped his head back a little. He needed to go home and sleep. "Everything will go the way it should. Good day, sir."

~"Good day, Mr. Grissom."~ And the phone clicked dead along with any hope of a reprieve.

So that was the second thing. Gil turned his phone off because he really needed to wait for the call from Brass, but he was also two hours over shift and he had to sleep. He had to go home and take time to steel himself not to screw it up so that Greg got his chance.

"Nicky?" Gil turned around slowly to glance at the Investigator that he knew was still there.

The other man was watching him intently. There were not many people that Grissom called 'sir', so it had to be a call from higher up. "Sir?"

How to phrase it? He didn't want them knowing, though he hated to lie to them. "I've been given some personal time to work on a consultancy. Master Braun wants me to start tomorrow, so... I'm going to leave this case in your very capable hands, with Greg to help."

Nick frowned. "But you just told me that..." He hesitated a moment. "Okay Griss. Greg and me..." It was a helluva break and he knew it. "We'll do the job right."

After all, it wasn't a real position reversal. Nick wouldn't be working the case solo, he'd be working it with Greg, who'd probably need someone looking after him once the Challenge was declared. Gil pocketed his cell phone. "Good luck. Tell Catherine that she's acting Supe. I'm already running behind, so..."

"I understand. When the Master says jump, you just hope there's a crash mat," Nick replied, still looking a little concerned. "We'll try not to wreck the lab."

"Great. I'd hate to come back and find this place a mess." Maybe Catherine would take care of his extra paperwork for him. Gil reached for his briefcase, and secretly hoped for that, at least. He could handle a week as a Personal, right?

He'd handled years of the worst that human beings could do to each other. Seven days was just... time.

It was rather strange for Nick to look so worried at him just from that hint of conversation he must have heard. Maybe it had been the 'sir' or the timing of it. Gil quirked his eyebrows as he started to make sure that all of his office work was actually there on the desk for Catherine to handle. He was actually taking work out of it instead of putting it into his briefcase. 

It didn't really matter. He might as well leave his briefcase there, but that would have looked too suspicious for him to be off consulting.

"You'll do fine."

"Catherine would kick our collective asses if we didn't," Nick smiled a little. "Must be a pretty important consultancy to pull you mid case."

"Imperial court." A point of pride for Gil, except it felt less so this time. He rifled his drawer quickly, grabbed some of his research so it would seem like he wanted to keep busy in his free time.

Nick raised his eyebrows a moment. "I get it," he said finally. "You need anything from here just call and we'll put a rush on."

"If the need arises, I'll call the lab." It didn't take long. He could pack up his life in a matter of moments, fast like that despite that Nick was watching. "Good luck with the case. You'll have to call Brass yourself..."

He'd lingered too much already. Time to run for it.

"I'll take care of it Griss," Nick replied standing as well. "Good luck okay?"

"Thank you." It was easy to feign a smile then, because all he had to do was think about the fact that very soon, Greg would be out of a horrible situation. Very soon, one of his people would be safe.

For that, seven days was a small price to pay.

* * *

Sleep had daunted him, and eventually, after contemplating taking pills for it, Gil had decided just to drop by the establishment of the House's Lady Courtesan. He was rattling towards exhaustion, and if he could just push himself that little bit further, do that one, two, maybe three extra things, he could push himself over the edge.

An impromptu lesson on a side of life that hadn't ever been his would be a learning experience and a Challenge, and driving there and back to his apartment again would be the little extra that would let him collapse asleep in his familiar bed in his familiar home, with his familiar books and insects and faint city-sounds that drifted up from the three floors below him.

Her establishment, a Freewoman run business with House Braun Affiliation from what Gil could tell, was well kept. The architectural style was old, a stretch back in time from the clean bricks and the sharp metal lines that style favored today. The siding was wood, or a good imitation thereof, not plastic.

Gil was glad that he'd parked around the back of the lot.

He was surprised when the door was opened by the Lady Courtesan herself. The impact of her presence and sexuality was immediate, making sure all attention was focused on her and the way she moved. Something about her spoke to the primal parts of his brain despite the fact he generally considered himself to be reasonably asexual.

"Mr. Grissom. I've been expecting you."

"Master Braun told me that he'd arranged the appointment." Just hadn't told Gil a time, but he'd probably been prepared for the Investigator to roll up to her place of business at some inexplicable time when he gave up on sleep. "You seem to have me at the advantage."

"Of course." She moved back into the hallway in an inviting fashion. The noises from up the stairs were a trifle alarming and she was watching him with piercing dark eyes as if she was reading a very open book with large, simple letters.

He followed after her, and half-closed the door behind him just because it was rude to leave doors open like it was a crime-scene and they were waiting for the coroner to tromp in without touching the fingerprints on the doorknobs. "Could I ask you your name...?"

"You may address me as Lady Heather, Mr. Grissom," she said and her eyes flickered over the glitter of his cuffs. "Welcome to my Dominion."

She didn't give him any more instructions, but walked slowly ahead of him up the stairs towards a small room.

Gil followed, letting the atmosphere of the place sink into him. The banister of the stairs was heavy, old wood, carved and varnished. Elegant. Lady Heather didn't have any cuffs, which meant that he'd been right in guessing that she was a Freewoman. There were faint marks on her wrists, from where he guessed they'd been at some point.

She probably used very good scar cream.

"Take a seat Mr. Grissom, we have a lot to discuss," she said as they moved into a very interesting room. "Please serve the tea. I'm sure you could use something to refresh your thoughts."

Refresh his thoughts? No, his thoughts were already well refreshed, surrounded with ornate masks, both decorative and sexual in nature. There was a whip draped artfully over the back of the far sofa, and the light sconces put forth the bare minimum that would illuminate the room. "I... of course."

Serving tea. He could do that, because at least the act of making and drinking tea was comfortable to him. He did it anyway, finding a little comfort in the patterns of it. "How do you take it, Lady Heather?"

"A little milk with a slice of lemon," she replied, still walking around him slowly until she finally stopped and sat, gliding into the chair with a movement that made the mouth go dry. She wore her Freeman insignia on a cleverly crafted necklace that mimicked a Personal’s collar and it gleamed as she leaned forward slightly. It was a paradoxical means of identification. Most Freemen or Masters wore their status on items of clothing and all had at least one item of formal wear that was presented to them as a part of becoming a Freeman ceremony. Lady Heather wore hers in an imitation of a bond-slave, but the differences were obvious enough if you looked twice.

It was interesting, and it gave him something to think about as he poured tea into her cup first, and then added a dash of milk and a slice of lemon. It was a leap of difference from what he'd been doing hours before, carefully brushing sand from a dead woman's hair. "Here you are."

"Now, Mr. Grissom, I believe you're expected to become a Personal for a week," Lady Heather accepted it graciously. "Why don't you tell me how you feel about that?"

There was only a split second where he thought about giving the answer he knew was expected. He poured his own tea, milk and a little sugar to take some of the bitterness out. "I would be lying if I said that the prospect didn't bother me."

"You have good instincts for a Personal, Mr. Grissom." she replied with a smile. "Interestingly so. What is it that bothers you about it? That it is repellant to you or perhaps it is an unknown situation."

Repellant? He wanted to say no, but there was a good possibility that it was a yes, somehow, even though he found most repellant things interesting. Gil took a sip of the tea, settling carefully into the chair that she'd gestured for him to sit down in, and let his eyes drift a little to her face. "A little of each is possible. I... don't have sex very often. And I was a Freeman for quite a few years."

"And in your opinion being a Freeman and having the abilities of a Personal are mutually exclusive?" Lady Heather summarized. "Why?"

"Not mutually exclusive, no. I have a colleague who scored high as a personal and I'm sure she'll work herself out soon. But." Gil held up one arm slightly. "These are Gem levels in science, entomology, law, and on and on. I didn't bother having my wood-level in pleasure and Personal added to my cuffs."

"So it is a fear of incompetence perhaps?" Lady Heather suggested sipping at her tea.

He hadn't expected to hear it put quite that way, but there was a seed of truth in it. Greg's chances rested on his compliance, and Gil knew that his few sexual encounters in the past few years had been related to emotional release and desperation on the other person's behalf. Catherine... was sometimes like that. Sometimes she needed something different than Eddie, who she was free in mentioning 'liked it rough'. Who better to turn to after a bad case but Gil, who pointedly preferred slow and learning and....

"Yes."

"Or failure." That was just a comment as she studied him. "Mr. Grissom, tell me what you understand to be the mode of a Personal Bond-slave. Their purpose, skills and... attributes."

"Their purpose is to be an asset to their Master and to tend to his -- or her -- needs. Their skills are both sexual and diplomatic in nature, and they're usually beautiful examples of humanity."

"Ah." Lady Heather nodded as if he had said something particularly revealing. "And their own feelings?"

Gil wished that he didn't have to answer or say anything else that could be 'particularly revealing'. He took another sip of the tea and murmured, "I'm not sure. As far as I've seen, most of them are very loyally attached to their Masters."

"You are conflicted, Mr. Grissom, and that is the source of your uncertainty," Lady Heather said in a soft voice. "You feel that you are at once not adequate enough to be Personal on a physical level and your own desires are unclear to you, so it's hard to align yourself with that mindset."

His mouth twitched a little, covering the sense of sick shock that was creeping in at the edges of his senses. "'No man is a mystery, except to himself'."

"You feel distinctly uncomfortable with someone being able to know you where you do not understand yourself," she replied tilting her head slightly. "Knowing the desires and the capabilities of others is my trade, Mr. Grissom. I read people the same way that you, for example, would read a crime scene. The similarities are pertinent. The skills you have as an Investigator are eminently translatable into the realm of the Personal."

"How? The very name -- Personal -- implies a certain level of ease at relating with people." And he didn't have that. He could carry on a good intellectual sparring match. He could start a conversation, but inevitably, given a few long minutes he'd say something that would make the other person or his colleagues stop and shake their head and dismiss him as some kind of emotional cripple.

"The concept of a Personal is rooted in relationship dynamics. A level of ease is not obligatory. It can help, but it is no more than a fragment of the concept," Lady Heather put down the cup. "Mr. Grissom, you are an intelligent, engaging man. Your body is not pre-sculpted perfection but most people who genuinely want a Personal aren't looking for that. For that, they can visit the Pleasure Slaves. What they want is, to use a traditional word, submission. Attention. Focus. That in itself is the intoxicant. Your principle issue stems from the fact that you are a 'switch' and feel you should be dominant because a lack of control creates fear. I can allay that fear."

He didn't want that fear to go away. Fear tended to exist for a healthy, self-protecting reason. Gil watched Lady Heather's hands for a moment, and then inclined his head slightly. "I... would appreciate the help. I could argue against what you just said for my pride's sake, but..."

She moved closer, almost comforting. "This is an example of what I'm talking about. The misconception is that the submissive is powerless. When you top with someone I am willing to bet that you focus on their pleasure, and needs more than your own... yes?"

His mind strayed back to Catherine, and then further back to other people, other incidents, other friends who'd turned to him because he seemed immovable in the face of hellish things. People turned to him because they expected calm, and he... "Yes."

"And when you have bottomed, it has been your own needs that have been addressed?" Lady Heather asked with a softness in her voice.

He hesitated, because those memories were pretty far back. The closest he'd gotten to that recently had been Jim, and neither had been bottoming so much as jacking off fast and hard and rough. Did everyone have gaps of time, spans of whole years, where they didn't have sex, and then months where it seemed that was all there was to remember? "No, not so much."

"What gives you pleasure, Gil?" Lady Heather asked, watching him closely.

For a moment, Gil opened his mouth, and then closed it to regroup his brain. "Do you mean in general, or sexually?"

"Both." She sat back waiting for him to bare his soul and expecting that nothing would be held back.

That wasn't in his nature. Baring, sharing, talking about himself, it all ran contrary to how he'd existed for so long. But he didn't have much time to prepare for a week of doing things that most people in that position had a lifetime of training to do. "I... prefer slow, calm sex, though rough has its place. In my free time I research insects. I read. I sometimes ride roller coasters. I go to concerts."

He didn't really feel a need to add 'I'm more boring than my coworkers think I am'.

"And you nobly sacrifice yourself for others..." Lady Heather replied shrewdly. "Otherwise you would not be in this position."

Gil almost smiled into his cup before he finished it, leaving faintly sugared dregs behind. "I wasn't aware that Sam Braun had told you about the nature of the arrangement."

"He hadn't, but I can read your attitude clearly. You wouldn't do this for yourself. You wouldn't do it for a request or even an order from the Master of your House." She smiled slightly. "You do it for someone who sparks an emotion in you, and fear for them pushes you forward. The ability to put someone else's needs before your own is at the heart of being a Personal. You can do this, Gil, if you will let yourself. Does this person know what you're trying to do?"

"No. He... doesn't really need to know, and I don't want him to feel that he owes me." It was only natural human courtesy.

"You are a rare and beautiful man, Mr. Grissom," Lady Heather said after a long pause. "I would have been proud to take you for Personal training. Very well. Do you trust me?"

Did he have any choice? No, but he did feel a kind of trust towards her, and an interest for her intelligence. "Yes."

"Good. I want you to trust me that I know the best way to get you through this week," she said. "And I sincerely hope that the man in question is worth it. Your instincts are good. You may not believe you are good with people but you read my intent for you to follow me upstairs effortlessly. You were willing to follow, more to the point. Observation is a skill that often takes a long time to instill in another person, but I believe you have that ability. For example... I want you to read the signals I send you just from my body and attitude."

She paused a moment and then turned and immediately her body radiate stress and frustration. She really was a phenomenal actress. "You're stressed, at your wit's end." Like the parent of a missing child, when things were falling to pieces and they lashed out at whoever happened to be handy.

"Good. And now?" Like a chameleon she shifted and was looking at him with eyes of lust and need, want him to do something for her... demanding it.

"You... want me. You're demanding me to comply with something you want." Gil had turned a little in the chair to better observe her.

"Excellent. Second level interpretation," Lady Heather replied. "And now?" Boredom, ennui, with a hint of barely concealed interest as if she was trying too hard to hide it for some reason.

Gil almost smiled. It was, really, a good game to play with him, and he couldn't help but try his hardest. "Feigned boredom to hide interest. It's a lot like interviewing a suspect."

"I told you your skills were translatable. This one is more complex... what do you read here?" Lady Heather, asked arranging herself once more.

This time the motions were much more difficult to perceive. There was some fear, anxiety, concern. A flicker to her eyes that could be loneliness. A definite tension that appeared to be control and a slump to the shoulders that was vulnerability...

It wasn't anything tangible, nothing that he could frame up in words with any particular ease. He was almost tempted to say that she was pretending to be someone who was depressed. He's seen that in families of victims, the ones who weren't going for the jugular, and they were far harder to be around than the ones who seemed not to care at all or the ones who were angry.

Gil shifted, straightened his own shoulders and pressed back against the chair's firm back for a moment before the motion clicked in his mind. Shoulders down just a little. Shoulders... huh. She was... No, that was the most egotistical thing that had probably crossed his mind in days. He twitched an eyebrow at her. "You're... mimicking me?"

"Very well done Mr. Grissom. Few people can recognize themselves from that perspective," Lady Heather replied. 

He couldn't quite smile, because he really hadn't expected it to be right. "I'm not sure whether recognizing that was supposed to be me was a good thing or a bad thing."

"It is a good thing. You have the skill of recognition to a degree most of my students would envy. And yet you feel you have issues with communications," Lady Heather arched an eyebrow at him.

"I've learned to listen -- listening and remembering that other people expect you to express yourself... are different things." Gil watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her expression and what it really was. "My colleagues think I'm not quite human."

"An active observer but a passive communicator?" Lady Heather replied with a twitch of a smile. "You're trying to read me, Mr. Grissom. You have good instincts. Tell me what you see."

"I..." He hesitated a moment. "You seem amused by the idea of an active observer being a passive communicator, and I'm not sure if you actually believe me since I've been communicating quite a lot to you since I came here."

"I believe it is possible, but I believe that under certain circumstances you can be an excellent communicator," she replied more seriously. "I am amused, it is true, but amused because I know if you were a genuine Personal and given time I could give you Training that would take you to the Imperial Court and not disgrace my teaching. And yet you believe yourself to be... deficient, alienated."

"I follow the evidence, and the evidence..." Gil gave a tight shrug of his shoulders. "Points to that. I... forget myself when I'm working. I don't ask people how they're doing, how their personal life is. I neglect myself, and I forget that just because I can work thirty hours at a crime-scene, other people prefer to take breaks and sleep and eat."

"In this instance, that ability to focus will be an asset. In a Personal relationship with a Freeman or a Master of a House, they define the structure of modes of communication." Lady Heather looked at Grissom, something behind her eyes. "They will talk in a manner similar to this. They may give you instructions to initiate arguments or to remain silent. The one common thing is the focus on their wishes and needs to the exclusion of most other things. You have proven you can do that. The very nature of the path by which you came to this point illustrates that point. Your ability to focus to the exclusion of peripheral things does so as well. Sometimes a Personal is given strict instructions to do what is best for their Master. What he or she most needs, and not what they want. That can be hard, but it is a profound demonstration of trust. You have to understand that not all owners of Personals are dominant. It may be perceived that way, but the truth is that frequently they want respite from responsibility. However... from the message Master Braun sent me, I doubt this is the case. So we will concentrate primarily on the submissive role. What are you feelings about that?"

His feelings were that he wished it weren't Judge Millander. He rather liked the man, and it was there that the problem both began and ended. "I think this is going to give me problems working with him on a professional basis afterwards. Judge Millander… I often testify in his circuit on House War matters."

"But what do you consider it will be like fulfilling the role of his Personal?" Lady Heather queried. 

"I... don't honestly know. It's never been something that I've thought about before I was informed of what I was going to do." Except that the man he'd talked to off the record about many cases, and could occasionally forget was a Judge, wanted him. As a Personal.

So, his tastes were skewed, clearly.

"I want to consider the situation, Gil." Lady Heather reached back and picked up the whip. "If, for example, he chose to use this on you, what would your reaction be?"

Gil grimaced as he looked at the whip, taking in the twisted thick leather and the leather flanges at the tip. The handle was molded. "Horror."

"Why?" She toyed with it luxuriously, deliberately sensuous. "Analyze your response."

"Some people find pleasure in pain." Gil tilted his head a little as he kept looking at the whip. "I don't. I've been whipped before, and it wasn't a pleasant experience."

"In what circumstances?" Lady Heather tilted her head slightly. "In circumstances such as this?"

"No." Gil managed a smile. "But it was in chastisement. The head of my original House was overseas on a consultancy, and his brother was... much less of a wise Head of House than Philip."

"And not used to dealing with bonded members who were more intelligent than their masters," Lady Heather smiled again. "The circumstances make the difference. Judge Millander desires you, and he desires to control you. If you have never experienced that then... we should change that before you spend a week with him, to address your fears of being inadequate in the performance of your task."

"The week starts tomorrow," Gil pointed out reasonably. "I'm not sure even you could manage a miracle by then."

"Trust me, Mr. Grissom," she murmured in a way that spoke to that primal brain once again. "I can show you how good it is to give up control or take control in one night. You have the skills and the aptitude. Now all you need is... motivation. Come with me, Gil, and have your eyes, and all other senses opened."

Could he honestly decline? No, not honestly. She was a gorgeous woman and she had an aura of control about her. It was easy for him to stand up after she'd stood, already complying though he hadn't agreed. The choice was easy. Gil could go along with it, let her teach him, or drop into the situation lost and unsure with possible consequences for both himself and Greg.

"All right."

She smiled at him as she turned to look over her shoulder. "I'm going to show you another world, Gil. I hope you're ready for the experience."

Gil knew he didn't really have a choice. It was better just to enjoy it, following after the shapely Freewoman.

He hoped he was ready, too.

* * *

Greg had been dozing on the break room sofa when Nick had finally finished tracking down all of the information he needed to continue the investigation. He'd read over Gil's notes, made sure he had a grasp of what his Supervisor thought was going on in the case. 

He'd finally just outright called Brass, woken him up, and said they needed cover to keep investigating -- particularly at the address on the edges of the city that didn't ring a bell in Nick.

It hadn't run a bell with Greg, either, and Catherine had told them to run with the case as she waded head first into the bureaucracy that usually hit Grissom. 

The implant had provided them with an ID and the address as a place of work. It seemed logical to go there even as Greg talked at him as he drove. "Pretty cool, out in field with you. Us both doing a major case." He was grinning randomly, seemingly on a high for all he was pulling another shift.

Another shift. They were, what, on their third now? At least he knew Greg had stopped to eat and sleep at some point, even if it just had been to pass out on the couch. "Yeah, well. That's just because Grissom got called off by the House to do something else. He'd be dragging us along right now himself if he could." That had worried Nick, but. But. It wasn't his place to say anything and he wasn't sure what there was to say. 'Good luck with the fiery hoops the Head of House wants you to jump through'?

"Summons from the House is never good news," Greg replied glancing out the window. "Brass is not going to be happy you woke him up."

"Brass hasn't been in a good mood... ever?" Nick joked, fiddling with the radio. There was a rock station that he liked, but the song was pretty crap, so he'd let Greg turn it down low so they could talk over it. "He's Brass."

"He's an Imperial," Greg shrugged again. "I thought Imperials had all the fun you know? ...special perks, automatic Freemen and the bonuses with it. But you manage to get him out of bed. Makes you think."

"Sometimes. I think most of his friends are either other guards or, you know. Like Griss. Maybe being a Freeman isn't as great as it seems." It made sense that it might grate on Brass. He was divorced with a wife that he'd paid out and a daughter that had been born free but had disappeared into some Godforsaken House of her own choice.

What good was freedom when there wasn't really anyone to enjoy it with?

"Yeah. Still, he gets on well with the boss." That seemed to give him the Greg Sanders seal of approval. "How far is it to this place again?"

"Not too much further." Nick peered out the windshield, making sure he hadn't missed their turn. No, Shoop was definitely not what he was looking for. "Look for the flashing lights. Brass always leaves them on. One of these days, we'll have to jump start his cruiser."

"That would be embarrassing for a hot pursuit," Greg grinned.

"I think it's happened before. Gil always tells us to carry jumpers in the vehicles, you know?" Nick grinned sideways. "Don't worry. You'll hear all of the not so secret tricks of the trade soon."

"It's like there's this whole unwritten set of rules that I don't know about. It makes me nervous," Greg replied lightly. "If the standard kits are so useless, then why do we have them? Warrick showed me his. Wow. Seriously. I never pegged him for hyper-organized."

"Warrick... is amazing," Nick grinned a little. "It's how he works, you know? Everyone settles into their own style with time. Most everyone has a completely different kit than what was given to you. Griss carries a lot of jars for insects and makes his own printing power -- which Sara I think has stockpiled in her kit. Catherine carries a lot of bindles and swabs for blood evidence."

"What about you?" Greg asked, his interest very genuine and sincere. "What's the Nick Stokes specialty?"

The Nick Stokes specialty was birds and fiber, but no one ever seemed to take him seriously. And Griss didn't seem to think that he was really capable yet. "Fibers. I'm good with trace." No point in mentioning the birds since that never got taken seriously.

Greg nodded. "Fibers and trace. That's good stuff man. When I'm running the analysis I usually think, how did they spot that? I mean I know the how in the dyes and the lights but... knowing how to look where you all look. Most of the books don't go into like... the practical skills. I know a lot of theory..."

A higher level theory than a lot of a qualified Investigators. "But the actual finding and working stuff over is different. I mean Grissom looked at that scene for ten minutes before we did anything. I ...don't want to screw things up by compromising a scene."

"You won't. Wear gloves, we're just... going to see if maybe this place where the girl worked was a primary scene, you know?" Nick took the right turn slowly, grinning to himself. There was a house at the end of the road, with a sizable black-topped parking lot around it.

"No flashing lights," Greg said with a grin as they pulled in next to Brass's car. "No jump starts today. I'll follow your lead, Nicky."

Even if Grissom had expressed doubts, Greg seemed one hundred percent sure that Nick knew what he was doing. It was kind of nice to have that for once.

Nick nodded, and gave a wave to Brass, who was leaning against the hood of his vehicle by the time he'd parked and popped his door open. "Okay. We're just going to ask some questions and, uh... Process if we find a scene here. Keep your eyes open, we'll probably have to check every room."

"Or just the one with the chains and the liquid latex in plain sight," Greg said with a smirk as he got out of the car and looked at Brass as he picked up his meager standard kit. "Hey, Jim," he said, heading straight into his apparent bad mood.

"Hey. You two working the Mona Taylor case sans a Supe?" Brass pushed away, eyeing them both as he jerked a thumb to the large wood-shingled building.

"Yeah, but I still bet you tried to page Griss anyway." Nick grinned at Brass a little. He'd been working with them for so long that it was hard not to be comfortable with the guy, a little cranky or not. "Do you want to get a foot inside and then split to work the exterior and the interior?"

"Yeah." Brass eyed Greg for a moment, and then started towards the steps that led towards a large single-doored entryway. "C'mon kid. I already found her car. It's the nice one with the 'Im4fun' license plate."

"Classy," Greg commented a little dryly and rang the bell as they walked around to the rather gothic inspired door. "She definitely worked here then."

"Makes a guy wonder what 'here' is. It's never been on my 'to know' list of House brothels," Nick murmured quietly, waiting. It was the waiting that would get him, and the way that Brass edged in between them and the door. He always did that on scene, putting himself into any immediate possible line of fire. 

"Sanders, step back for a sec."

Greg looked startled and stepped back as the door opened and a tall and rather impressive woman answered the door. "Let me guess, three weary servants of the Imperial law looking for the quality experience that only trained Personals can supply?" She sounded amused and stepped back, silently inviting them to enter.

"Close. One Imperial, two Investigators," Brass deadpanned as he stepped forward slightly, making sure that she could see his bad. "May we come in?" She stepped back with a smile that Nick decided was kind of hot, and the slit in her skirt went all the way up the inside of her leg. She had a faint smell about her -- perfume and sex, like she'd been working and hadn't had time to shower.

Collared, too, so she was a Personal. Nick frowned slightly, but then turned his attention to peering up and around the open lobby and the sweeping stairwell.

The sounds drifting down from the upper rooms were very plainly of whips, and cries. She seemed to notice their appraisal and turned. "Another happy customer... Now, would you like to have your needs assessed individually or were you looking for a group session?"

Inexplicably, Greg was now trying to look as inconspicuous as possible and had by some strange means ended up very close to Nick. "Uh..." Nick turned his head a little to stare at her, while Jim choked on a laugh.

"We're here about a crime," Brass cut in. "Not to partake of your business's, uh, services. Mona Taylor was found dead last night."

She seemed to go very still. "Would you like to come and discuss this in my chambers? I've never lost one of my girls before."

Brass gave a tight smile, taking a little control, and Nick let him. He was senior there, without question. Nick and Greg were just there to collect the evidence. "That'd be fine."

Nick gave a glance over to Greg, before he looked back to Lady Heather. "We'd appreciate that. Maybe you can help us with our investigation. Do you mind if we search the interior and the exterior for clues?"

"By all means. I may need time to clear certain areas. I run the Training for Personals for House Braun, but we also run a Personal service that is open to all." Lady Heather looked around. "There are few Houses that can boast access to Courtesan trained Personals, so many of our clients are... sensitive, as you might understand. But I most definitely want to assist."

"Take your time." Jim's mouth tightened a little when he said that and Nick thought 'just not with bleach on the evidence'. 

"Greg? You wanna take the Vic's car and the surrounding area? I'll do the upstairs and then we can work the downstairs together when you're done. Cool, man?"

Greg nodded. "Cool. I'll... uh... process." He seemed quite pleased to be backing away and Lady Heather watched him carefully for a moment.

"Please, follow me." She said to the other two. "What is it that you need to know?"

"Were there any disturbances last night? Did you hear screams?" Brass took a step towards her, and Nick moved to fall into step with the other man as she turned to lead them up the stairs.

She gave him a look as the cries continued to echo, some most definitely sexual in nature. "It's when I don't hear screams that I start to worry."

That really explained the whip marks she'd had, Nick decided. And why she'd been so beautiful. "So," Brass ventured, while Nick watched her. "When did Mona get off work?"

"Her last client was booked for eleven, so she should have been gone by midnight." Lady Heather led them into her room. "She worked the converted Pool house area."

"We... need names and addresses of her clients. And we'll also need to examine the pool house area and take a look around," Nick broached carefully.

"Of course. As long as there's confidentiality if they aren't involved in the crime. And I will have to move clients around to clear the area." Lady Heather gave Nick another long look. "Does this make you uncomfortable, Investigator?"

He cleared his throat slightly, and shook his head. "No, ma'am. Do you mind if I take a look around here while you clear the pool house?"

"Of course. Please respect the rooms that are marked as occupied," Lady Heather said. "At least until I have opportunity to clear them of occupants. The evidence in any room is all yours."

"Thank you." Nick gave her a wide smile, and turned towards Brass, who shook his head slightly.

"I'll be down in the lobby keeping one eye on Sanders and an ear out for you. Scream like a girl if something happens, all right?"

Lady Heather twitched a smile at that. "I'm sure he can scream most satisfactorily," she nearly purred. "I won't be long."

Brass smirked when Nick leaned in to punch his arm. "Bastard..."

"Yeah yeah. Get going, do your flashlight thing. Just don't go blind from all the semen stains, all right?" Then Brass turned, feet clomping quietly as he headed back down the stairs, leaving Nick to halfway follow Lady Heather into the hallway and to peek at the doors that weren't marked occupied.

There was a compelling fascination about the rooms. He entered several of the unoccupied rooms and found a bewildering variety of themes. A harem fantasy, with silk and a brazier ready to be lit, something that looked like a dancers studio with a great deal equipment, an exotic looking dungeon room. All surprisingly clean.

The occupied rooms had even more allure as he wondered about the themes behind those doors and what was happening to make those sounds in such intensity.

And, there were sounds. The heavy noise of chain and whip and leather, cries and moans and even the odd yelp, people begging for mercy. He walked past those rooms a little more slowly than he needed to, half-trying to guess what was behind each door, when he came near one that was seemingly silent.

Huh.

If he was trying to hide something this would be where it was. No one in there but conveniently people requested to stay away. He stepped forward and reached for the door handle. 

Of course he might be wrong.

He could just lie and say he hadn't looked well enough at what the door said, since the sign was subtle and hard to see if he wasn't looking, if he didn't work there. It was easy to grasp the door handle, turn it, and crack the door open slowly. Dimly lit, yeah, like most of the unoccupied rooms had been, and he pushed the door open further, leaning in and shining his flashlight.

It caught off a glint of metal, and he followed the glint that his light gave down with his eyes. Oh, shit, it wasn't unoccupied. There was a guy in there, because he could see hand restraints and arms that led down to a loosely arranged body, curled up a little and naked on top of the duvet. There was no way that could've been comfortable, but the guy was sleeping. The guy...

The guy was Grissom.

A surprisingly relaxed Grissom, with muscles and lines he would never have believed even though he knew that he had been working out. The first glance was deceptive. The restraints didn't look comfortable, but Grissom did.

Nick... suddenly really wished that he'd listened to Lady Heather's instruction. Because he couldn't quite help but stare at his Supervisor, conflicted. On one hand, Gil was not supposed to be there. He was supposed to be consulting on a case, not bound up and dozing on a comfortable-looking bed. On the other hand, Nick wasn't supposed to be in there either and Gil looked really hot like that. He was almost laying on his stomach, one leg looped over the other. There was a red mark that wrapped around his hip, and his dick...

Nick was trying not to stare. It was way past time to close the door and back the hell up.

He managed to drag himself away, very quietly and silently shutting the door. Maybe he could just forget it and pretend it didn't happen.

Heck, who was he kidding? How could he forget that?

It just. Wow, what the hell? Nick hadn't expected that, ever. Grissom and sex just didn't... mix. Grissom and kinky sex that you paid for also didn't mix in Nick's head. Grissom and kinky paid-for-sex of the submissive type was blowing Nick's brain, and he stared at the closed door for a long moment.

The only thing he could do right now was process and see how Greg had made out with the car.

* * *

"So, I'm looking through the trash..." Greg said as they walked in the indicated direction of the Pool House extension. "And guess what I find? Aside from some really interesting weird stuff... Liquid latex."

He grinned. "There's some sort of impression in it. Looks like a watch. So I was thinking we could get a mold made of it."

"I'll show you how to cast it when we get back to the department -- you bagged it, right?" Nick held his camera in one hand, trying hard not to take in too much of what was going on around them, or blurt that their supervisor was naked upstairs. He had a feeling that Greg might just dash up there to try to get a peek of the Sleeping Grissom.

The Sleeping Grissom who could apparently afford to patronize a House-linked establishment that fancy and specified. And the skipping work thing... Jesus. Nick shook his head sharply, and grinned at Greg. "Gil had a cast of an indent on the Vic's wrist. Wanna bet money they fit?"

"No bet," Greg looked at him with what Nick had heard Sara call his excited puppy expression. He'd laughed because no matter how she meant it, it did seem to sum up his enthusiasm and hopeful expression. "But I don't think even a Personal would have a watch like that. Looked designer. Unless a rich client gave it to her or was preparing a contract for her alone."

"Except that the watch wasn't on her. The watch is missing in action," Nick pointed out as he peered around the room, looking for something. The chain in the middle of the room was the first thing that interested him. "So. We've got a watch that we don't really have. And we've got... I think our primary scene?"

"Yeah, those are designed to secure a person standing, and the chains would go over the back," Greg said absently as he looked around the variety of implements hanging from the walls.

Nick's mouth twitched, and he looked at the handcuffs that hung at the ready from those chains. "So... Hands in those, right? And that keeps the person from getting away?" He peered over at Greg and looked along the length of the chain to snap off photos of where the silver had chipped from wear and scraping. "How do you know this?"

"You really don't want to know," Greg replied and it sounded like it should have been said with a joking tone, but his voice was comparatively flat and serious. He bent and peered at something on one of the instruments. "Well lookee here. Liquid latex."

"Photograph it, then bag it." Nick bit at his bottom lip. It didn't make... sense that Greg would know that, but it made sense at the same time. Because he rolled into work looking like he'd tangled with a demon half of his days, and maybe that demon liked to use their DNA tech Investigator as a Personal. And maybe Greg just wasn't saying anything.

And maybe, maybe Nick wanted to get something for the headache that was sinking in behind his eyes as he took another shot of the chains, stepped back three feet more to establish location in the room.

There was the flash of Greg taking the photograph and the bagging the sliver as he turned around. He paused for a moment looking at Nick. "You okay? You look a little... weirded out."

"I'm just thinking. I... kinda accidentally opened one of those doors upstairs and I didn't know it was occupied. And there was this guy with..." Nick gestured to the heavy leather hand restraints that dangled from the chains he'd been photographing. "These on? And his cuffs. And he was sleeping like it was the best sleep in the world, and it just... I don't know. This place weirds me out. I couldn't sleep tied up."

"You probably could if you tried it," Greg replied. He shrugged. "People can do pretty much anything if they have to."

"Yeah, but..." Nick rolled his shoulders a little. "I think the guy was a paying customer. Not really a 'have to' do kinda thing, you know?"

"Well, it might be he can't relax unless someone makes him relax," Greg said as he used his flashlight. "There's not a lot else you can do like that. You don't think... oh hey I've got to get up and do this or that. As long as you're there, you're... there. You can't do anything, so you have to do nothing."

That... sounded freakishly plausible, and Nick hadn't even had to say a name to hear an answer that fit. Maybe that was how Grissom unwound after work. Most of them went drinking, but hey. Emergency 'must be tied up session'. Freaky, and Nick decided that he was going to keep a mental calendar to see when Gil next skipped out on them. Maybe he really did have a consultancy to do and this was some weird 'unwind before jumping through Sam Braun's fiery hoops' kinda deal.

"Huh. Hadn't really thought about that. See? That's a new kind of perspective that I don't think any of the rest of us have." Except maybe Grissom, who'd deny it until the day he died if Nick ever said anything.

"I am a source of the weird and faintly disturbing," Greg replied with a grin. "There's something missing from in here though..."

Missing? Nick glanced around a little, but hell if he could find anything missing from a place like that. The room was pretty barren, and maybe there was something standard to places like that.

"Okay, you've got me, Greggo. What's missing?"

"The other gear. I mean, yeah, there's a lot of naked stuff, but usually with this sort of thing? Masks, hoods, blindfolds, gags, things to put in, things to take out..." Greg faded off a moment, a hint of a flush of color on his cheeks. "That sort of thing. This is mostly to create an impression, this stuff. I bet most doesn't ever make it into play..."

"Huh. Maybe… Maybe the room's been cleaned?" Nick looked around again, and then headed to the door. "Want to finish processing in here, and I'll ask Lady Heather what happened to anything else that would've been in the room?"

"Sure. Yeah, I can do that." Greg nodded trying to look confident. "I expect they get washed or something. I mean, lots of potential for infection there."

"Right. Hopefully anything used last night hasn't been washed yet," Nick offered as he glanced over at Greg again. He wanted to say more, but that could wait until the car ride. "I think you've got this room covered, so I'll see about that other thing."

Greg nodded and turned to sweep over every inch of the place with his flashlight and take samples of what he could even as Nick headed back out of the atmospherically lit dungeon space to track down Lady Heather.

He kept seeing tantalizing glimpses of the male and female form walking or being lead, or even carried from room to room. It was hard to remain focused. The whole place was oozing sex, and normally that wouldn't make his mind wander. It was a little discomfiting, but the unease had been manageable until he'd seen Grissom in one of those rooms, and until Greg had started to talk about it like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.

It was worse because he had to pass a lot of rooms and he had no idea where to find Lady Heather. Maybe upstairs, her office space was up there.

Jim waved to him as he walked past and back up the main stairwell.

He wondered what the Imperial thought about it. Maybe he'd even tried out this sort of thing. Masters or Freemen could afford permanent Personals, but anyone who was still bonded had to come to this sort of place and pay by the session. It was much more expensive than going to a Pleasure House or something. He wasn't entirely sure what the difference was.

Lady Heather was back in her office space, organizing some of the paperwork. "Investigator Stokes, have you discovered anything of use?"

"We, uh... noticed that the pool house room is pretty barren. Where was the equipment used in that room yesterday? The Victim had fresh whip marks." Nick wondered what kind of paperwork she was up to.

That disconcerted her for a second. "That's impossible... Mona was dominant with her scheduled clients. I knew she occasionally saw people off the House books, but I allowed it because otherwise she would have requested a transfer... but I assumed she knew what she was doing." Lady Heather looked directly at him as she stood. "I'll take you to the wash room. I doubt it has been processed yet but there is everything from last night. I don't know what was specifically used for each room, though I can usually hazard a guess."

Nick shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable as he watched her stand up. "I'd appreciate that, because it might help us find her killer. Oh -- my Supervisor noted that she had the impression of an expensive looking watch around her wrist. Do you know if anyone was trying to lure her into being a Private Personal?"

"Not as far as I am aware. Mona liked the variety a Training House could give her. She might have taken a gift, but I would have noticed." Lady Heather considered as she walked in a sensuous manner over towards him. "It could have been a 'prop' as much as a gift. This sometimes happens. It provides an emotional connection with the persona associated with that item."

It was really easy for Nick to take a step back so he wasn't blocking the door, and then he moved out into the hallway. "So like... instead of having someone wear somebody's perfume, a watch...?" Fucked up.

"Or an item of clothing, or a certain nail polish," she replied. "You find it hard to comprehend, Mr. Stokes, don't you?"

"A... little," he admitted as he waited for her to lead him towards the 'wash room', which he really hoped was unoccupied. "I can kinda get some of it." He wasn't going to think of Griss. He wasn't. He just hoped that Grissom stayed in that room, tied up, until he and Greg and Brass were way the fuck long gone. "Some of it. But that...?"

"It's little different than using a Pleasure Slave and selecting one that looks similar to someone you have wanted, loved in the past or is unobtainable in the present or future," Lady Heather replied. "But there the similarities end. Personals are very different than Pleasure Slaves."

"Sure. But... I just wonder why people come here. Which isn't my place to wonder, but I'm having trouble getting a feel for the victim." And that was important. Understand the victim and it was easier to understand the crime. 

"Then let me try and explain, Mr. Stokes," Lady Heather said as she led him out of the room. "Pleasure Slaves are about the body. Personals are about everything. A Pleasure Slave can give you what you want, a Personal can give you that and what you need. Most people have no idea what that is, but the training I had, the training all Personals have, allows us to read it in anyone. If you went to a Pleasure House for a visit, they have limitations. We do not. We make love not just to the surface, but to every part of a person. And that might mean their submission. It might mean performing an intensely beautiful and ritualistic spiritual ceremony for drinking Chai-sen. It could be a massage and counseling session or allowing them to explore the depths of themselves without judgment. Personals can focus attention on someone in a way no one else can. Mona, for example, very rarely had sex as part of her sessions, but the gratification for her clients and herself was intense nonetheless. Do you understand?"

Nick nodded as he fell into step just a little behind her. The hallways were narrow and not really built for having people walking shoulder to shoulder. "I think I get it." It just didn't help that his brain kept skipping back to Grissom, and Greg's words mingling with Lady Heather. Maybe that was really how their mysterious Supervisor relaxed. Maybe he came there and paid for someone to dominate him and then chain him up and let him sleep. That… was pretty freaky, still, but at least it seemed to be a pattern at the place.

"The process is possibly the ultimate in luxury. Of course, at the highest level, a Personal is more that just to do with satisfaction. They're to do with true needs. Challenging, keeping you growing and developed with a purpose; a lover, friend, mentor, pupil all in one. Unconditional. That's a heady mix." They entered the washroom, and Lady Heather gestured to the piles of equipment in sinks. "That is from the Pool House, that section there."

"Yeah, but the people who come here aren't getting that last part, right?" Nick reached into the inside of his vest, reaching for plastic bags. There had to be DNA on some of it. A lot of masks and straws and cuffs and Greg had been right. Things to insert.

"They get as close as many of them are as likely to get in their lifetime." Lady Heather replied. "Do you need my assistance further, Investigator Stokes, or can you and your novice trainee deal with everything from here?"

He hadn't told her that Greg was a trainee, he was sure of that.

It was hard not to stare at her a little. "We can handle it. Thank you for your assistance. I think this is everything we'll need." Except for some answers.

"I must check on a client, if you'll excuse me. Please feel free to discuss or ask anything pertinent to catching Mona's murderer," she replied, looking back at him over her shoulder as she left him to his bagging and tagging. There was nothing the woman did that didn't look alluring or arousing.

Client, huh? Maybe a certain sleeping Grissom up in that quiet occupied room. That was... kinda a hot mental image. If a woman like that wanted to dominate Nick, he was pretty sure he'd at least give it a try. Because damn, she was hot. He watched the door a little and then really did get down to the task of snapping pictures and bagging.

It was really going to be a long rest of the night.

* * *

When Lady Heather took on a task, she did it thoroughly and with style. Gil was still reeling from the introduction to rather new and exciting emotions and sensations from both sides of the control equation, and even as he relaxed he was massaged, given a manicure and pedicure, had his sometimes unruly hair styled into a soft natural look, and thoroughly pampered. The hand-over to Millander was taking place at Lady Heather's, and she was very carefully packing some of the restraints and equipment she knew Gil had responded well to as they waited.

"How about these? You did seem to enjoy them," she asked holding up a rather fearsome appearing set of restraints that were rather comfortable over longer periods of time. "Gives a good impression."

He'd been adjusting to it, the idea of what he was going to be doing, and it had morphed from Gil doubting he was capable of handling it to Gil just being nervous.

Nervous was a hundred times more bearable than feeling like he was doomed.

Those restraints had been comfortable to sleep in. His back still ached from the beating she'd given him, but it wasn't a bad ache and Gil had certainly done worse to himself in the line of his job. "That I come with my own restraints?" He managed a faint smile. "They were actually comfortable, so... why not?"

"You slept very well in them," Lady Heather replied. "You enjoy being in control and frankly, you do that very well, though in what we call a serving dominance, focused on the happiness and well-being of the person in your control which is perfect for a Personal, but you do seem to need some of the other. Your reaction surprised you, didn't it?"

"It did. I didn't actually expect to be able to relax like that. Except... you're an exceptional teacher." He could see why she'd made a Freewoman so early. Later, after he got back to work, he could reconcile with the fact that he had honestly enjoyed that treatment, had honestly had a part of himself that didn't mind it, but not now. Now he had to concentrate on being open, open to anything with the Judge, because Greg's life rested on it. Braun wouldn't declare the Challenge, Gil knew, until he was sure that Gil was working out for Millander.

It wasn't going to be so bad. He liked the man personally, and he was sure he could handle a week as his Personal.

"Thank you, Gil. I enjoyed our sessions as well. It was most definitely a privilege to teach you." She caressed a little around the side of his face, still smiling. "Should you require further lessons afterwards, you know where I am. I don't pretend to know Millander's tastes or what he intends, but just remember that he wants you, and that you have power in that respect. The first thing he's likely to do is to fix a Personal Collar. Traditionally you kneel to receive it, remember that."

A few more of their training items were added into the case. She'd also packed clothes for him. He hadn't really expected that, but he had been expecting for her to deem his current wardrobe unsuitable just from looking at the clothes he'd shown up in. Gil exhaled, tipping his head up a little to watch her walking around the room, adding things and pausing now and again. All he had to do was sit still and remember everything she'd quickly taught him since he'd arrived there the previous afternoon.

The sun was coming up, but he felt well rested despite how tightly packed the evening had been. "I'll remember that, Lady Heather. I'm going to try to remember everything."

"Remember how to be honest with your reactions," she replied. There was a long pause before she spoke again. "The one you're doing this for, would he be young with rather unruly hair, and possibly with an Investigator called Nick Stokes?"

Gil's breath caught just a little, and he met her eyes. Nick... Nick and Greg were working the case and Nick and Greg had been going to look for where their victim had worked, and now it made sense where she could have worked. "They were here about the case...?"

"Yes, Mona was one of my Personals," she replied allow more emotion in her voice then there had been when the news had been broken. "You didn't answer the question."

He almost managed a smile. "What made you guess that Greg was the one? It was a good guess. You're right."

"He recognized immediately what everything in the place was for and what I could do, and not in a good way," Lady Heather replied. "He moved favoring various parts of his body and he unconsciously felt threatened by the presence of a very overt dominant presence close to him. Or, to put not to fine a point on it, he looked like a kicked puppy."

That was Greg, all right. Gil nodded, still watching her for a moment before he stood up to make sure that he knew where everything was in what she'd packed for him. That was Greg, and Heather would see under the smiling bright expressions to everything beneath that. "He's been like that since he started to subcontract with us. One of these days, he's not going to come in to work."

"I understand, Gil," she murmured. "I would love to reassure you that you're wrong in that assessment, but... your observation skills are instinctively good. I would have to agree. You should bring him here when you've gained his safety. "

That was a thought that hadn't ever crossed his mind. Gil dropped his hand to touch the contents of one open suitcase, fingers feeling the edge of chains that were peeking out from their soft covering wrap. He flipped the cloth back over them. "I'm not sure I understand why."

"Call me a romantic, but you two would mesh well together. I see... you haven't even had casual contact?" Lady Heather was a little surprised.

No, but he'd thought about it, tried... tried just to make Greg comfortable with him. It didn't ever seem a possibility, and that was all right. Gil had a good life, he was comfortable, he didn't need anything or anyone else in it. "No. I think I scare him."

"Perhaps you do." Lady Heather replied. "I suspect most people, do but he still puts himself out there as if he has nothing to lose. If it does happen, scared or not, bring him here if things become difficult before the both of you give up."

"Do you think you could help him...?" Even just her talking to Greg could help. Gil would be more than willing to pay for that. Just... "I want him to have a chance at the lifestyle most of House Braun has. That's all. I'd like to see him come in to work healthy and happy."

"I could." She was smiling again as she finally closed the case. "For free. I am a slave to my romantic ideals after all. We should move to the foyer. He'll be here shortly."

Calm. He could be calm. Court never bothered him, and this... this was just one more thing he'd never done in his life and was having the opportunity to do. Gil nodded and stepped back. "All right. I want to thank you again, for all of the help that you've been, Lady Heather." Moving to take the closed case seemed a simple thing to do after everything else.

"My pleasure, Gil, in many ways," she teased as she moved past him to head down the stairs. "Come... I suspect he will be precisely on the hour."

"He's always prompt in Court." And with Gil's luck, the man's watch would be running earlier than Lady Heather's.

But at least the foyer was empty just then, and he couldn't see anyone standing outside impatiently waiting. Gil made a mental note to stand up straight while he carried the case, and followed after Lady Heather.

It was when his foot touched the bottom stair that a knock sounded from the door.

She swept straight towards it, and opened it carefully. "Judge Millander, a pleasure to meet you. Do step inside."

Gil stopped at the bottom of the stairs, carefully setting the case down. The little rubber legs at the bottom still made a noise on the floor. This was it, and his stomach twisted for a moment before he lifted his head to look at his new, temporary -- just a week he reminded himself -- master.

The thin, well attired man stepped inside, eyes immediately alighting on Grissom as if he wasn't really sure if the agreement would be honored. He smiled slightly, genuinely pleased even as he responded to Lady Heather.

"It's an honor to be here, Lady Courtesan. I see you've been assisting with my agreement with House Braun. I thank you for that."

"Believe me, it was a pleasure. I believe you will find Mr. Grissom more than satisfactory." She turned her gaze to Gil with an encouraging look. "Gil, please come forward and greet Judge Millander."

There were better times in his life that he could have been struck with that same case of nerves, but interpersonal relations were always a floundering point. He remembered every date that had gone badly, every attempt to ask someone to dinner or lunch or breakfast that had been shot down and his stumbling attempts to cover it up like it had been nothing all along, honest, who me, thinking I could be with you? No, no, not at all.

Gil managed a smile, straightened his back a little, and then relaxed. He knew Judge Millander, even if it wasn't this way. He'd be fine. "Sir." Gil stopped a few feet away, lowered his head a little, waiting and trying not to overtly look at the Judge. He peered, though, eyes raised with his chin tilted down slightly. He looked good in casual clothing, out of the robes of office. Cleanly dressed, hair well combed, face...

Well, Judge Millander probably understood casual rejection, too. Not that it was going to be coming up in conversation.

Millander smiled broadly. "Braun has given me a prize, it seems."

Lady Heather nodded. "Indeed. Have you brought a Personal Collar with you? Or do you need the loan of something suitable?"

Did he kneel now or wait for a collar to be produced? Shit. Gil decided waiting was better. The protocol and what level of formality Millander preferred would become obvious later. Until then, Gil was going to play it to the hilt unless requested otherwise.

"I-I wasn't sure if it was appropriate," Millander replied with the faintest hint of a stutter. "I did bring something." He rather carefully pulled a collar out of his pocket with a degree of uncertainty. Here was a man who made decisions on a scale that would terrify most people and yet he was evidently nervous to a certain degree of taking up this transaction.

Lady Heather glanced at Gil, beckoning him with a flick of her fingers to kneel.

He knelt carefully. Not a drop so much as he slowly lowered himself, as calmly as he could. Just like kneeling down in the sand two nights before, head tipped up a little to look up at Millander. For whatever reason, his faint uncertainty was soothing. So neither of them really knew what they were doing. Okay, that helped.

The fabric of his suit, grey-brown cotton, was an interesting distraction for his eyes.

The collar was leather, and soft as it slipped snugly around Gil's neck. Millander pulled the buckle to tighten it slightly but left it reasonably loose.

"You understand that in seven days you are to return Mr. Grissom here, with no permanent damage?" Lady Heather said.

"Yes, yes of course." Paul Millander seemed enraptured by the fact that he had the other man kneeling there, and collared. Lady Heather had been right about the impact that could have on a person.

"I took the liberty of packing suitable attire and equipment for Mr. Grissom. But other than that, I wish the both of you joy of this experience," she replied, gently touching Gil in reassurance before standing clear to signal her passing him over to the other man.

Gil only briefly wondered what was considered 'permanent' in terms of damage. If he was hopeful, it meant nothing scarring. If... and he was hopeful, because Millander seemed just in awe that Gil was kneeling there. His fingers fastening the buckle had been a little shaky, and the leather didn't feel any more or less discomfiting than his first proper cuffs had first felt. 

The next step was up to Paul.

"Follow me... Gil," Millander ordered. "And bring your cases. We'll get to know each other a little more on the way home."

Home. Not his apartment, but Millander's home. Gil nodded, and turned to get the cases where he'd left them. "All right, sir."

"Call me Paul, Gil... unless I say otherwise," the other man replied and with that and a nod to Lady Heather he led his temporary Personal outside away from the comparative security of Lady Heather's Dominion.

Paul. Unless he said otherwise. At least that was specific, and Gil could appreciate that specificity. Gil could appreciate a lot, like going from moment to moment as he took the cases by the handle and turned to follow after his temporary owner.

Millander lead him out to a slick looking Ford Mustang and gestured for him to get in the passenger side even as he slid into the drivers side. He didn't say anything at that point, just watched Grissom's every move.

It was... intense, Gil decided, as he managed to get the cases into the back seat and then slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind him, the motion of getting in and closing the door one single shift, before he reached for the seat belt after a moment of looking for it. Millander had just had the car detailed, and it smelled crisp like a new car, even if the wear of the leather driver's seat disagreed with the cleanness.

"I drive a lot," Millander replied as if he had asked a question. "I sometimes think I spend more time in my car than I do in my home."

Gil's eyes flicked up while Millander -- Paul, he'd have to stop thinking of him as a Judge -- got into the driver's side. A smirk twitched his mouth. "You're on a busy circuit. This is certainly a nice car to drive if you're going to spend that much time on the road."

"It clears my head. There are some cases, some... days where you need that." Millander replied even as he started the car and pulled expertly away. "Don't you find that?"

"Some times you need to clear your head," Gil agreed. "I ride roller coasters when it gets to be too much."

"Roller coasters? That's an interesting choice. Why?" the other man asked as they headed out, away towards some of the higher-class area's of Vegas where prestigious Freemen and Masters, had secluded houses of luxury. Gil had been there a few times on cases.

Just a few. Gil settled back in his seat, watching the side of Paul's face as he drove. He did seem a little more relaxed out of the court and behind the driver's wheel. "It's... " Gil had to pause, thinking about it in a bout of silence. "It's a release, in a way. Pay the operator enough credits, and they'll set it to run for half an hour. There's nothing to do but feel."

"That's an... interesting perspective." Millander seemed to consider for a long moment. "Gil, I need to know how you feel about this. We've always gotten along as professional colleagues and, I confess it, I've held you in high regard. This... development was too good an opportunity to pass up."

The silences, at least, were comfortable. Gil could listen in the silence as well as he could listen in the sound. Sometimes on a scene, what you didn't hear was as important as what you did hear. "I understand. I was originally a little unsure. I'm still finding my footing, but... I'm not adverse. I've always admired the way you handle yourself professionally."

"My professional life is one that I'm in control of." Millander was looking straight ahead as he said that, though his fingers clenched round the steering wheel tightly. "I want you to be very honest with me about anything we discuss, Gil. I have enough of lies all day every day."

"Being honest isn't a problem for me, Paul." Except when people didn't want him to be honest and they got it anyway. That had gotten him into more trouble in his life than anything, sharp honestly. Telling Nick that no, he really wasn't ready to work a DB solo, even if Gil could have lied and stalled and shifted it around so that it wasn't Nick to blame. 

If he gentled the truth, then it wasn't the truth by the time that all of the edges had been shaved down and the whole of it had been shaped up.

"I believe some of the House Lawyers have noted that," Paul smiled at him. "And needless to say, anything we discuss is bound by the confidentiality clauses that apply to Personals. I.... am not good with expressing myself fully."

Gil folded his hands in his lap after a moment of toying with what to do with them. There was an abortive armrest on the inside of the door, and then the console, and Paul's knee, and Gil wasn't sure. His head wasn't quite yet there, and it was a little like the moment before a case clicked and made sense in his head. "You don't have to worry. I don't indulge in gossip, and I'm not going to discuss this with anyone. It's no one else's business."

Not Sam Braun, not Catherine, not... anyone.

"Does it bother you that I'm interested in you in a Personal way?" Millander asked as they swept out of the suburbs.

"Bother? No." Gil took a sideways peek at Paul, feeling himself relax a little. "I was honestly surprised, though."

"How so?" Millander was easy to talk to in a way at odds with his normal courtroom demeanor.

Mellow, calmer. "I didn't... I had the expectation that all Personals were stunningly beautiful and mostly young."

Millander chuckled. "Beauty is most definitely in the eye of the beholder. What would I see in a classic beauty save a mockery of myself? I prefer looking at the mind, and in that respect, my new Personal, you outstrip everyone I've known."

"Thank you, s-- Paul." Gil paused a moment, and leaned his head faintly back against the headrest. "I'm sorry, it's going to take me a little while to remember to call you Paul."

"That's understandable." Millander spared him a quick glance. "Tell me, Gil, what do you expect of this time together?"

What did he expect? "I expect that... you want someone to see to your needs, whatever they might be," Gil said, picking his words carefully but not lying or obfuscating as he spoke. Thinking through as he talked, yes. "I hope I can do that for you."

"You hope you can...?" Paul Millander sounded astonished that he even expressed any sort of desire in that direction. He shook his head even as they slowed, coming into a secure area replete with houses that verged on being mansions. "I thought Sam Braun was joking when he said it was willing. I believed you to have been coerced into this position."

"I owe the House a debt," Gil admitted, "But there were so many other things he could have asked me to do. Things I wouldn't have agreed to."

"Like?" Millander asked as they pulled up the driveway of an isolated comparatively modest mansion and came to a slow halt.

As if a mansion of any kind could ever be really modest. Gil had a simple, comfortable apartment that he'd been living in for years despite the fact that he could've moved up a housing band. Home was home, even if he qualified for something nicer.

"It had crossed my mind that he might ask me to tamper with a case, or with evidence."

"And you would rather give up control of your body than compromise your integrity?" Millander asked as he shifted to get out. "For most it would be the other way around."

Gil reached for and fumbled with the seat belt for a moment before he popped the passenger side door open. He'd have to get the cases out, but he also should answer Paul since once he stood up, the other man couldn't hear his answer. "My integrity and honor means more to me than control."

That seemed to please Millander as he nodded. "Good. When we get inside I want you to take your cases upstairs and then come back. We'll have a cup of coffee and just talk some more." He seemed to take satisfaction in that at least.

"All right. Just... up in the hallway?" He assumed there was a hallway as he turned away from Paul to pull the cases out of the back seat.

"Yes. Feel free to explore," Millander said as he moved to unlock the front door, leaving Gil to follow on behind.

"Thank you." He wouldn't explore much; it would be best to get back to his host, but he did want to sate his curiosity a little. 

Stepping inside of Paul's home was a little of what he expected and a little of what he didn't expect. It seemed the simple residence of a very private kind of man, but it was well decorated and well furnished. As a Judge, he probably had to host parties there, and Gil was willing to bet that all of the upstairs doors locked from both the inside and the outside to keep nosy guests from rifling the proverbial medicine cabinet.

One large light room caught his eye as he moved towards the master bedroom, more by instinct than prior knowledge, an artist's studio from the looks of it. Paintings, sketches, sculptures of a sort that were at once dark and powerful.

Graphically realistic, and it made Gil want to explore further. The mansion was so large that even when he strained his ears he couldn't really make out where Paul was, and laid out before him was one series of work in progress after another. The sketches tacked up in one corner were loose, the wild spinning out of designs, but he could see more detailed variants on a slanted drafting table and a humanesque sculpture that looked to be in progress, not really fleshed out yet.

That was one thing he had never considered; that Judge Millander might have something like an artistic talent that he spun out in private. He leafed through some of them, some of them striking a chord of memory. Imagined scenes from cases, as if the only way to stop them being in his head was to get them on paper. Surreal images of men and women intertwined, but not in a passionate embrace. There were a lot of dualistic themes of every type.

None of the overlapping faces and forms struck a chord, but the case sketches did. He remembered the heir of a small House who'd had her boyfriend kill her family -- not for status and money, but revenge. He remembered Sara talking with the little girl they'd thought was the daughter's sister but who had been her daughter. The daughter of a girl by her own father. The slaughter inside had been unimaginable, but sometimes... sometimes Gil could understand it. Almost.

He could really understand needing to get it out of his head, so he set the sketches aside, trying not to remember when he'd removed the bloody buffalo pendant from the evidence bag and everything had fallen into place.

"You've found my art room," Millander's voice spoke from the doorway behind him. "I don't usually allow people in here."

"I..." Gil turned slowly, so he could see Paul standing in the doorway. He'd left the cases out in the hallway, intending to leave them outside of the master bedroom. "I didn't mean to intrude on your private space, but... these are very good. I couldn't help but look at them."

"My entire house is a private space. I wouldn't have brought you here if I hadn't made that decision to let someone in," Millander said. "But as a Personal, I have... some measure of control over that. Please, look..." He smiled a little. "I'm afraid at least of portion of this time together will involve me sketching you."

As if that were some burden? Maybe for other people, but Gil did well with stillness and quiet, if that was what Millander wanted when he drew. The room was full of tiny things to observe and take note of, from eraser dirt to the way Paul's mouth tugged into a crooked smile. "I'd feel honored if you wanted to do that. I think it would be interesting to watch the artistic process. Your pictures are better than most of my Investigators' photography."

"I should add that perhaps some of the posing I had in mind, might involve the ...ah, equipment that Lady Heather so kindly provided for us," Millander said. "But I learn most about myself and others when I draw. Sometimes it's the only way I can see through to the heart of things."

Interesting. Gil filed that away in his mind, and set Paul's sketches carefully back down on the table. He didn't want to smudge any of them, not when they were dark and light shades of pencil. The sketches were a way of putting himself there, associating, maybe. Gil wasn't sure, but he'd work it out. "How you want to pose me doesn't matter. The restraints... are a bit like riding a roller coaster."

Millander raised his eyebrows. "Come have some coffee. I have to admit, I wouldn't have put you as someone who would choose that sort of approach...?"

Gil was glad that his amusement rose up fairly easily. Paul was... comfortable, in a way. It struck Gil as a little funny. "Neither would I have, but I was given a crash course."

"Ah." he actually chuckled. "The incomparable Lady Heather. Was she truly so impressive?"

"Mm. She was... very helpful." Paul was standing close, leaving Gil to wonder if it would be presumptuous to move closer to kiss him or...

He seemed to sense the moment and moved back, not ready for intimacy that wasn't on his terms. "I'd be interested to know what you tried and enjoyed."

Something else to note, and Gil shifted his muscles back subtly while he nodded, giving Paul his space. The last thing he wanted to do was unsettle the arrangement by being... too much himself. Too awkward, too unthinking about what to do. "I'll tell you about it over coffee."

Millander nodded, settling a little more. "Coffee it is Gil. I'm sure you'll like it. Blue Hawaiian."

* * *

Coffee was his lifeblood.

Nick wasn't sure when he'd switched from drinking sodas and beer to coffee and harder stuff, but he was pretty sure it had a lot to do with the job. And the fact that there was always a pot of coffee, really good coffee, on at the lab. One of these days, the coffee pot was going to blow up. Griss had said that one time the pot actually had caught some napkins on fire, but that was apparently a few coffee pots and quite a few years ago, and probably thousands of cases ago. Cases like what he and Greg were working on, which was why Nick had made an effort to arrive early. Ish.

Greg was already there, half propping himself up and staring at his mug as if the concept of lifting it to his mouth was a little beyond him. It was always difficult to tell if he was looking tousled because that was the style, or because he genuinely was feeling rough. Either way, his hair was pretty wild and he looked up at Nick as he came in. "Hey, boss."

"'Boss', huh? Don't let Catherine hear that," Nick smirked. "She's the boss right now. What the heck are you doing here so early?"

"Finishing up the DNA on those masks and other items," Greg replied. "Hey, I'm being your sidekick at the moment. Kinda like forensic superheroes here."

And there it was. The shift into Greg-space and the hyperness that came with it. It was usually a little more subtle than that, rather than a flick of a switch that proclaimed him weirdly abnormally normal, a fun guy and the type of person to grin and walk away shaking your head over.

"Forensic superheroes." Nick did shake his head a little, knowing that yeah... Greg made it really easy to do that. On purpose. "You feeling okay?"

"Hmm?" Greg looked at him. "Oh, hey yeah. Didn't get the sleep I should've. Waiting for the... coffee to kick in."

He meant something else entirely. Catherine had muttered something about if someone shook him, he'd rattle like a pill bottle, but that had been with his leg.

Nick picked up the carafe, and started to pour, peeking over his shoulder at Greg. His leg was still kinda hurting him, so maybe that was it. Greg looked a little rough, but... nothing too out of the ordinary. "Cool. Hey, did you get anything back on the masks and straws or anything else yet? You could leave it for dayshift to have done..."

"Yeah, I got a match to our vic," Greg replied finally drinking some of his waiting coffee. "And to two straws." He demonstrated by very elegantly sticking his two thumbs up each nostril and waggling them as he grinned. "And unknown epithelials on the other end."

Maybe it was the drugs that made Greg so off kilter. Maybe he was living off of those pain meds and no one had really noticed. Nick nodded as he wandered over to the fridge to grab the skim milk. "So, that fits Doc Robbins's declaration that asphyxiation was cause of death."

"It's difficult to get air through straws. Even two of them," Greg commented. "Uh, hey, is there anything to eat in there? I didn't have time to grab anything before I came out."

"Probably..." Nick bent for a second, peering into it. There was something in a sealed glass jar at the back that he really didn't want to know what it was. "Damn, man. Griss leaves town for a week, and he still leaves shit in the fridge. Uh, we've got a couple of Sara's yogurts, and hey, I've got a sandwich in here. You wanna eat that?"

"If I eat one of Sara's you'll be finding body parts all over the city," Greg shook his head. "Nah, leave it... that's yours. I'll get something later."

He still palmed it, and put it down on the table in front of Greg once he'd grabbed the milk. "Griss also has some of those weird candy-covered bugs in there if you want them."

"Ever tried one?" Greg asked obviously considering the prospect. He had to be ravenous to go that far. There was pact in the office never to succumb to Grissom's attempt to make them enjoy the goodness that was chocolate covered crickets.

"Nope. I take pride in knowing that that's one kind of candy I can look twice at and not want to eat. It's kinda messed up -- chocolate covered crickets?" Nick shook his head as he finally added the milk to his coffee. "Go on, eat that sandwich. I ate before I left home."

"You sure?" The fact he was reaching for it even as he asked made his question hopeful for a yes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Big huge bowl of corn flakes. Go on, eat it. We'll hit something drive-through when we're trying to figure out who the suspect is. Since we've got samples now, we need to find the exemplar, right? Our suspect." He still felt like he was flailing at what he was doing, even if it was fun.

"Lady Heather was getting us the paper work of clients that Mona saw," Greg reminded him. "And the fact her DNA is in the hood would pretty much mean she was subbing off the House records. How did the watch mold work out?"

"I poured it before we rolled out this morning, so..." Nick nodded his head at Greg, half-waiting for him to eat. "I guess we'll find out if I managed to do it without air bubbles, huh?"

"I thought I heard voices," Catherine walked in. "I swear, the Imperial Sheriff's Personal, Ecklie, must have been born to politick and suck ass." She paused a moment, taking in the sight of Greg eating quickly and hastily. "Nice, Greg... Nice."

Greg waved her a silent hello, with his mouth full of Nick's sandwich. 

"How's the case?"

"It's going." Nick grinned a little as he leaned against the cupboard and slowly drank his coffee. Milky and unsweetened gave it just enough kick that he might be functioning. "We have a murderer's DNA, now we just need to find the murderer. It'd be easier if Griss was here..."

"You don't have to tell me that," Catherine replied grabbing a coffee of her own. "I know I've had to poke at him about paperwork, but... hell. I've never seen so much. Copies to every damn place you can imagine. And running a case at the same time and trying not to tell Ecklie that he should go back to his Master and have the steel rod up his ass adjusted for their mutual pleasure."

"Not the mental image I needed after the scene Greg processed last night," Nick murmured as he moved to sit down across from Greg at the table. "We were at this fetish place, because that's where the vic worked. Trained Personals for hire like Pleasure Slaves. It was weird."

"I bet they clear a lot per week," Catherine replied after a moments thought. "Weird?"

"Nicky's a vanilla kinda guy," Greg replied swallowing a part of the sandwich. "And this place? So not like that."

"And you're not a vanilla kinda guy?" Catherine asked.

Greg just shrugged with another convenient mouthful as Catherine smiled at her coworker. 

"C'mon, Nick, you mean to say you've never done any of it?"

"Never," Nick confirmed as he sipped at the coffee, half-watching Greg eat and half-watching Catherine get her coffee together. "I mean. I can see why some people like it. Kinda. But I still think it was weird. People getting whipped and there was this guy who was sleeping chained up."

"That's tame stuff," Catherine half smiled. "Just because you haven't, Nicky, doesn't mean you couldn't. Maybe the guy likes sleeping that way. Now me? I'm more on the other side of the equation."

She gave the pair of them a long, speculatively teasing look up and down.

Nick shifted, jostled Greg's leg beneath the table with his own. Did it scare him worse that Gil liked to sleep chained up and Catherine had apparently thought about whipping people, or that everyone but him in the department was apparently deep down a kinky SOB? "Okay, that scares me. Greggo? Maybe we should cut and run before the new scary boss decides to prove any of that."

"I'm scared of her." Greg agreed. "Heel spikes. Scary. In so many different ways."

"I'm getting a whip and putting in on Grissom's desk for when you guys fail to do your reports in a timely fashion." Catherine replied smiling. "Anyway, this is still a priority case, Nick. That's what the ass-kissing Ecklie had to say. House connections with House Braun, concerns about internal House bias... blah, blah, blah. No slip ups."

"No slip-ups," Nick agreed as he shifted and started to stand up. "No internal House bias or blah blah blah."

Greg hastily followed. "Like Griss says, we follow the evidence, not the theory."

"You've learned well, grasshopper," Catherine replied. "I better go track down Warrick. He's meant to be meeting me to track down this getaway Honda. Sara's up in court. If you need anything, Nick? Call my cell."

Warrick probably didn't have any deep dirty sexual secrets. He had good taste, and that wasn't a secret, which made Nick wonder and daydream a little as he waited for Greg to catch up with him. Jesus, he didn't need that kind of distraction on the job. 

"Will do. C'mon, Greg, let's see how my mold came out."

"Better than Grissom's in the fridge," Greg replied as he moved. He was limping again. On the other leg this time. "If it is something designer, we have a cool break."

"And we'll be spending the whole night going to different Jewelers," Nick pointed out. His eyes dropped a little to look at Greg's leg. "Hey, what happened to you?"

"Tripped up some steps," Greg said easily. "Right on my knee."

"Do you want to go by the morgue and get that looked at while I look at the molds?" Nick asked him seriously. Grissom would've offered the same option to Greg.

"It's just bruises-- a bruise." Greg replied. "It'll be fine if I walk it out. I don't want to miss the mold experience. I found that latex, I want to see how cool it is."

"Sure." Nick stepped into the side room, and set his coffee cup on a table near the door because they weren't really supposed to have food or drink in the area. "Here we go. That one there is Griss's mold from the woman's wrist, and this..." His was still taped down in the semicircular mold, rubber in latex that he carefully peeled apart.

"Hey, cool. No bubbles," Greg peered at it closely having followed suit. "Next time there's one of these? I want a go. It looks like a match to me. What do you think?"

"Yeah. It looks like that was the backside and this was the top." Nick peered at it, careful not to stretch it out of shape even though he was wearing his gloves. "What do you see there?"

"Looks like some sparkles around the edges." Greg looked at it. "And that's a wrist watch, not a cuff watch. That means the owner has to be a Freeman."

Was it wrong to feel a little surge of pride that Greg had put that together so smoothly? Nick grinned, and nodded his head faintly. "Exactly. That's probably why it left such a deep impression on her arm, because it had to be put on above the cuff, which meant it was going to be a tight fit. So... I'd say that's a lady's watch? See how small the face is? It's delicate looking." Side by side, the two molded pieces. "You good at sketching, Greg?"

"I can turn out something that's not too abstract. Aside from polymer chains. They pretty much look like squiggles at the best of times," Greg replied.

"Okay. You sketch, I'm going to look up some of the better jewelers who sell to Freemen." If he left Greg alone, even just for a little bit, maybe he'd relax and let his guard down. Maybe.

"Okay. I'll do my best," he replied with a nod. "This is the legwork stuff right?"

"Yep. Going from store to store, asking if anyone's seen this watch instead of if anyone's seen this person." Nick snapped one glove off, and reached for his coffee cup again. "I'll be back in about fifteen or so."

"I'll have something by then," Greg promised reaching for paper and pencil. He grinned at him a moment. "We're going to get this guy. That'll be good for the increments for you right?"

"Every solved case is good for that," Nick shrugged. "Same for you, getting some field work in."

That was kind of an odd thing for Greg to say, and Nick let that mull around in his head as he turned down the hallway to snag one of the computers in AV and start researching.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

So far being Paul Millander's Personal was nowhere near the ordeal that Gil has anticipated. They had talked a great deal, eaten some of the finest food, discussed topics that fascinated them both, played some chess and Gil had slept in Paul Millander's bed, and become accustomed to the warm body behind him that touched only a little and not much more.

The next day's entertainment involved some lunch, and then some sketching, where they talked and tried different poses.

Paul certainly seemed to respond to arranging things with him comfortably restrained. He became more open and animated, possibly because it affirmed that Gil was really under his control. It wasn't actually uncomfortable, stretched out on Paul's sofa in the art room, arms over his head in the wrist restraints that didn't obstruct his gem-marked wrist cuffs. Lady Heather had supplied a number of ways to secure the restraints, and Gil was watching Paul contemplate whether more was needed.

"Hmm. How does that feel?" Millander asked, as he studied Gil's form with a more than artist’s intention.

Gil stretched a little, scooting down so his arms stretched a little more, and his elbows didn't get in his line of vision. "Comfortable. I could stay like this for a while."

"You can twist onto your side?" He fiddled with a length of satiny cloth that he loosely twined around Gil's legs. "You look... magnificent."

He did better than say he could -- he did it, twisting carefully. It was odd how Paul seemed to twitch a little when he moved too fast, so Gil was careful not to break the moment by moving that sharply. "Like this...?" It was strange to be called magnificent.

"That's good... that's... good. Just relax like that. I want to draw you like that," the other man said and there was the faintest touch of fingers over the satin cloth, and over bare skin before he retreated to his sketch pad and chair, set very close to him.

No, it wasn't at all what Gil had suspected but Paul seemed to need that kind of calm, that kind of control, and if that was the only thing Gil was sure he could give him, then it was very easy to do. So far he hadn't seen Paul in any state of undress, and sleeping with him had been oddly tender. If it hadn't been for a few touches, Gil would've called it almost platonic.

Gil took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, willing his muscles to go loose like he did when he'd been on a scene for too long. "Gladly."

"Talk while we do this." The pencil moved swiftly and steadily, bringing an animation to Millander's dark bright eyes. Leather and metal against pale skin, the shimmer of binding satin spilling over muscled legs. "Do you have anyone special in your life, Gil?"

"No." One word answers felt inadequate, and Paul knew by now that Gil tended to take a moment to come out with the rest. He'd probably done more talking, person to person, unrelated to a case, in the past day or two than he usually did in the span of a week. "With the hours I work, and my hobbies, it's hard to find someone to connect to. I still try, but... It never seems to work out." 

One slip up, and that was it. He gave people endless chances, and he had one shot, win or lose, because if he missed it, slipped up, ever made a mistake, it was all over. His whole life had been like that, in a way.

"I understand." That was it. He did genuinely seem to understand. "I... you may have noticed that I have some issues that way myself."

"Face enough rejection, and it gets hard to keep trying. Why put forth the effort if the only thing you're ever told is no or one of no's many close relatives?" It was rhetorical, while Gil watched Paul's finger guide pencil over paper, the preliminary sketches. "Get burned enough times and it's... hard to try again. But you almost have to. It's part of living."

"Rejection is only a part." Millander's sketching was wild and emotional where his voice was not. "I find it hard to deal with intimate emotions. I need to be able to control the situation, which is a fruitless task."

"Not always," Gil suggested carefully. "Set... your own pace, Paul. Any person worth the effort that it takes you would understand that."

"It's more complicated than that," Paul replied, almost frantically capturing something with a swift economy of line. "There are things about me that no one can know."

Interesting. Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and then peered at Paul's face, trying to read him. "I'm contractually bound to silence, Paul. Whatever it is..." 

He wasn't sure. What could someone with his kind of power have to hide? It wasn't his sexual preferences, obviously, even if he'd done very little so far. There wasn't much that Gil could think of that was taboo in society.

Millander paused a moment, watching Gil intensely. "I know. Which is why this is the only way." 

There was something faintly disturbing about the way he said that and he put down the sketch pad a moment and reached across to trail fingertips, smudged with soft graphite, over Gil's skin.

There was something arousing about the faint touch. It was controlled, like that was all Paul was going to allow himself in that moment. And Gil couldn't touch back, not with his hands bound up over his head, resting on the arm of the sofa. The want was palpable, and Gil wondered why Paul wasn't making the most of such a limited amount of time if that was the 'only way'.

"That..." Felt good.

"You like that," Millander replied softly. The same light they were using to illuminate Gil cast Paul's own face into half shadow and half light, pitted like the surface of the moon. He took two fingers and drew them in parallel line over his torso. "The tracks of the roller coaster. You don't know where it's going or when it will end...."

Gil exhaled in a shiver, concentrating on the touch, the words, the light. Light and dark, and Gil wondered just how dark dark was for either of them, and just how light the light got. "Don't care."

The fingers marked their skittering trail over arms and stomach, and then down the outside of a leg and slowly almost imperceptibly up the inside. "Even when you teeter on the very edge and you know the fall is coming and there might be no brake, no stopping and you're powerless...?"

Teasing. It was funny how being teased like that was more sensual than all of the outright fast and dirty in the world. The muscles under Paul's fingers twitched with the effort that not moving was taking Gil. "Why worry about something... I have no control over?"

"Because of what it could do. Of what being that powerless could m...mean." Paul leaned closer, the warmth of his hand slipping around Gil's cock and just cradling it gently. 

Gil's hips jerked a little at the feel of the almost sly touch to his dick, hardening despite the gentleness of it. "I've had power. Been free, lived without that power for a long time. It..." Fuck. He had to concentrate. "I don't worry about what I can't control any more."

Millander looked at him, smiling slightly. "A gift." He drew back a moment standing up and padding away.

A... what? Gil closed his eyes tightly, letting out a hard breath to keep himself from jerking at the restraints in frustration.

It was a few moments before Millander returned with an artist's pallet complete with globs of some sort of paint. "You're a masterpiece, Gil. I find myself... inspired."

He smiled again and settled next to him, reaching to dip his finger in a color and then used his finger as a brush over Gil's stomach.

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. Gil tried to keep from moving, from reacting from the faintly tickling touch. He opened his eyes, and tipped his head down a little to look at what Paul was going. "To... paint me...?"

"Mm... Haven't you ever wondered how a work of art feels like as it's being created? Is it stroked into life by an artist's brush, the canvas tingling in anticipation of the next touch?" He illustrated his words with gentle slick abstract sweeps. "I can feel when I paint... I feel not just the smoothness but the emotion with it. How does this feel to you?" Slick fingers, colored and gentle slide over the texture of his nipples, gilding them with highlights.

Honest. He had to be honest and so Gil blurted the first thought that crossed his mind. "The... paint? It's cold, but..." He took in another shaky breath, as Paul's fingers kept moving. "Arousing."

"I agree," Millander sculpted patterns that merged and blended, smoothing slick paint with his thumbs and he created an abstract form in shades of blue over Gil's chest and abdomen, fingers flickering and then stroking the color into place. "I don't know if paint can be warmed. It would be a worthy experiment... but when you shiver, it looks like the image through water."

Probably because he was trying to stay still while Paul touched him, manipulating and painting something Gil couldn't quite see while he moved between trying to watch Paul and just closing his eyes and feeling. When fingers slipped low again, just avoiding his hard cock, Gil sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth to stifle a noise.

Paul chuckled again. "I would never have realized quite how... arousing the creative act could be." His thighs underwent some artistic treatment then, the artist's hands slipping in and out with varying pressure. "You seem to be enjoying it."

"It feels..." Gil gave a faint laugh at himself, eyes closing again. There was blue paint smeared with thick white, and he wondered if it was acrylic. "Good? Exquisite."

"Perhaps a piece can only be truly finished when it comes to a natural climax," Millander said in a soft voice. A hand pushed between his legs and smoothed in a dark midnight blue streak even where it would be unseen in his crack. The other hand swirled spirals on the skin of his scrotum, pale and creamy, so he could then grip them with hands smoothed over with dark paint. The contrast pleased him immensely and his breathing became noticeably ragged.

Gil guessed that there was a reason why there was normally hair over that -- because after it was removed at Lady Heather's, the sensation was maddening, the way that fingers rolled his balls and smeared paint over his bared skin. He was mostly glad that he wasn't looking, because the sensations were enough, feelings that made him want to move, beg, shift, even though he could tell that Paul seemed to want him still. "Fuck..."

"It makes you want to move, doesn't it?" Paul murmured bending close as if he was studying Gil's cock, his breath warm on its tip. "How does it feel not to be able to?"

"Frustrating." It was honest, and Gil opened his eyes. All he could see was Paul leaning over his crotch, and fingers leaving colors smears on his hip. "Please, Paul..."

"I could walk away and leave you here, an unfinished canvas. Do you want that?" Paul glanced up at him teasing in a low voice.

He didn't think he'd ever seen quite that smile on the Judge's face, in any of the outrageous things that had happened in court. Never quite that at ease. "No, I... I don't want to be left unfinished."

"Quite so. An unfinished canvas is a tragedy," Paul replied and allowed himself to lick at Gil's erection. "Mmm." He took him deeper into the heat of his mouth as his fingers moved again, seeking unpainted skin with unerring direction.

What he was doing, how he was marking Gil mattered a lot less to the back of Gil's mind as he gasped quiet, pressing the side of his face against the inside of his own upper arm for a moment. It was all the stability he could find, that and the unpredictable sensations that Paul was granting him when he wanted to. There wasn't any question that Paul knew what he was doing, hot wet sucking at him.

It seemed odd that Paul could bring himself to do that but had shied away from a normal kiss. The hot mouth worked at him slowly and deliberately, Millander's grip pushing his hips to be as still and restrained as his arms. "That's it..." It was barely a whisper. "You can let go even though you're so helpless. Incredible." The swirling tongue tormented him further.

What was that? Serious... serious intimacy issues, when he could suck cock but not kiss. Gil could probably put words and explanation to it, if, if... If. He shuddered a little, and only half-heard the words Paul was whispering. He could take being pinned still like that, could take being held still, paint-covered hands and fingers controlling him while he lost himself in the feeling of tongue and mouth and heat.

Millander could suck cock like he had gem increment of the highest carat rating for it. After the cool of the paint, the heat of his mouth was incredible. It was almost shocking when he moved away, leaving him on the verge of orgasm. "Do you want to add a little of yourself to the masterpiece, Gil? Or do you want to keep painting...."

Gil groaned against his arm, trying to pull himself together enough to answer. Dammit. He'd been so close, and now his cock drooling. "What... whatever you prefer."

Millander was leaning towards him, over him hovering as if he might taste a dangerous kiss. "Let's do both at the same time."

There was more dark paint on his right hand, and he leaned over and murmured, "Kiss me..." clutching the cool paint slicked hand around his erection the moment lips touched lips.

It was easy for Gil to kiss him, eyes open and mostly focused as he felt lips press against his own, felt the paint-covered hand fisting him just that little bit closer to the edge. Gil groaned against Paul's mouth, his own lips parting.

The kissing was hesitant but becoming more passionate as if a long dreaded fear had not materialized. As Paul delved deeper with his tongue, his hand moved firmly, warming the paint with friction and his hand, not stopping no matter how Gil twitched and pushed up. And Gil did, hips rocking with the faint leeway he had, fingers clutching into fists, digging into the thick leather that was strapped over his palms. It felt like he was being devoured, and he couldn't give in to the urge to put a hand at the back of Paul's head to hold him still, to taste better, and…

He groaned, hips jerking a little frantically for a moment before he came.

Millander stroked his climax from him, letting the ejaculate find its own trails over his painted body. "Now that's a masterpiece..." he whispered and drew away once again. There was the flash of camera, flickering like lightning from different angles before Millander rejoined him, undoing the cuffs, and tugging the paint smeared satin free. "Thank you... that was incredible."

Gil let him un-secure him, feeling sunk in somehow, and a little hazy at the edges. There was paint on his cuffs and arms in thick fingerprint marks, and Gil decided to make half an effort not to get much more paint on the sofa, if it was possible. "Thank... you, Paul."

"I think it's entirely possible that you might need a shower or a bath," Millander replied, his face transformed by the warmest smile that Gil had yet seen from him. He looked at himself. "I may take one, too. You truly feel good? I've never done anything exactly like that before."

"Neither have I," Gil offered as he carefully started to stand. His hands were clean, so he could use the arm of the chair to steady himself. "It was really... very enjoyable, Paul." And a little sad that Paul was quite so unsure as he was, even with his pockmarked face transformed with a smile. "Do you... want to join me in cleaning off?"

"I...I don't know." Millander look a little concerned suddenly as if he had proposed something out of his comfort zone. He looked at Gil again; down at the artwork he had painted. "Y...Yes. I believe I will."

He inclined his head slightly, knowing that he was treading on careful ground, even as he took a backwards step to leave the room.

Sometimes, Gil decided, a shower between two naked men was just a shower.

* * *

Even though they had pulled a double, Greg was still pumped. They'd interviewed their two suspects and been stonewalled until they could get an Imperial warrant. Even so, it made him fizz and bounce with the idea that they were getting somewhere. He and Nick worked well together, or at least he thought they did. Nick hadn't even shouted at him yet so that meant he at least tolerated him. That was pretty good going with his track record. "She was playing outside her marriage contract," he said nodding again. "Man, she was cold. I have no idea how you managed not to tell her where to stick it."

"Practice, man. You get a lot further with honey than with vinegar, and we'll be back with that damn Warrant." It would just take a while to get the paperwork through, which was why they were back there. Both of them signing for it would probably get it along further faster. Nick set the papers down on the break-room table, and moved to sit in the corner.

"Yeah. He was definitely lying," Greg replied sitting near him and putting his leg up with relief. "Mm. What am I doing again? I'm in a double shift haze man. Gotta get something to eat or a coffee IV."

Or both. He'd probably need both once he got 'home' and returned to his House. Doubles were good and bad. Good because they kept him away from the House, bad because they left him so damned tired. It made everything ache worse, somehow. 

"Hit a fast food place on your way home, man. Pig out or something. We... well, I'm filling out a warrant application."

"I'll lend moral support." He would have killed to drop in on fast food, but House Wesker still did things traditionally and held each of their bonded-slaves finances in the House accounts. Which meant they only got money when House Wesker decided to let them have a bit. His 'allowance' for the week was pretty much gone in one day.

It was kinda ironic considering his specialty pulled in more salary than pretty much anyone else in the lab. It made him feel like shit when he knew that and then ate one of their sandwiches or something. At least the coffee was free. "I could get you some coffee?"

"Nah, put your feet up. You look beat." Tired, Nick meant, but the other kinda worked too, didn't it? Yeah. Yeah, he probably looked beat.

"Guess I'm not as fit as you are," Greg replied taking that suggestion with more gratitude than he could show. He wanted to thank god for the suggestion and give in to the urge just to close his eyes and sleep again. Yesterday's activities had been nothing too out of the ordinary, but it really was difficult to sleep like that, no matter what he had said to Nick about the guy sleeping in restraints that Nick was obsessing over. Greg had to stop himself from smirking a little at that. Nick was just so.... Nick. He didn't even understand why he was obsessing. Greg had never met anyone like him and he liked the warm gentle ease that the other man had. It was like something precious he had never seen before.

Of course, if anyone in his house ever figured out that he'd taken a personal shine to any of his coworkers... they'd find a way to dirty it somehow. His Head of House wasn't the strange benefactor-type that seemed to run House Braun. Everyone in the department drove, and they had separate homes, like they weren't going to run, ever, like it just wasn't possible. And treated like that, god.

Greg wouldn't run from that. Couldn't think of what sane person would run from just being able to casually drop by a fast food place and or get real good food out because they wanted to. 

"Yeah, well. Hey, maybe you could work out with me sometime. Or Jim. I know Griss does." Nick bent over the sheets a little, writing.

Gym priv's cost and he was back to the fact that most of his salary was never coming anywhere near his own hands. "Griss? Works out? Well obviously you do..." Because muscles and a build to die for and a smile that made him believe that people could be the way they were in films.

Films were pretty far removed from Greg's reality. "Yeah. Brass is a misery loves company kinda guy, and when his unit threatened him a while back -- shape up or ship out? He didn't waste time finding company." Nick grinned a little at Greg.

He'd never been smiled at so much until he came here. There were a few others in the House, and they pretty much had to look after each other, but Wesker played rough. Broke his toys and traded out if they didn't amuse him any more.

If he didn't pull in legitimately nearly as much as most of the others managed illegitimately, he'd probably be the same way. "Well they both look in pretty good shape now. Maybe Brass is grouchy due to low blood sugar."

"Low powdered sugar, maybe." Nick signed his name at the bottom, and then passed it sideways to Greg. "There, sign that and I'll drive by the court on my way home."

From the corner of Greg's eye, he could see someone standing in the break room door, dressed in navy blue, wearing a badge. "Hey -- I was told that Greg Sanders was in here..."

"Uh hey," Greg put up a sheepish hand. "That's me." He looked at Nick a moment and then back again. "Can I help you with something sir?"

"I'm serving you with Notice of a Challenge. House Braun is challenging House Wesker for possession of one Greg Sanders. It will take place tomorrow at eight p.m. sharp. Your presence is required to make it legal. As of now, you are in Challenge Amnesty as per Imperial Law." The man offered Greg a piece of very official looking paper.

Greg took the piece of paper as his brain shut down. Challenge? He was being served with notice for a Challenge? But...

He gaped at him, his face draining of color and his hand shaking.

Oh god, oh god, oh god....

It wasn't that he even entertained the fact the Challenge would succeed. That wasn't anything to think about beyond the next twenty-four hours. He knew what happened to anyone Challenged in House Wesker.

He should be happy, he should be overjoyed but that would have involved hope. Instead, he felt sick and dizzy as he took the paper.

The Imperial officer gave him a tight smile and an inclination of his head, leaving without Greg really noticing. Nick leaned sideways. "Hey, man, that's great!"

"Oh my god." Greg's hand was shaking, his eyes barely taking in the words. "Oh, fucking hell."

It was great news, and yet... "Greg...?" Nick frowned tightly as he reached for Greg's shoulders. "What's wrong? House Braun is challenging for you. That's... that's great."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. You don't..." How could he? He was Nick. Nick, who was sweetly vanilla and blushed at the mildest kink. Who had a wholesome family, and a good House and probably couldn't conceive that someone wouldn't follow the rules. Like adhering to Challenge Amnesty.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

He could hear Nick jerk in the seat, moving fast -- the warrant papers and Greg's sheet about the Challenge were taken out of his hands just in case. "Just... relax and tell me about it, Greg."

"I can't fucking relax, Nick!" The words were out of his mouth before he even realized it. "I... I can't go back there tonight. To my House. I can't."

Nick was looking at him with shocked eyes before he shifted back slightly like he did on scene when he was reassessing his take on something. "Okay. Uh, then you won't go back. You have to work shift tomorrow... hell, tonight, anyway, right? So come crash at my place, or, uh, I could drop you off at Warrick's, or..."

"They'll come after me Nick," he said in a low, hopeless tone. "They'll take me back."

"You're shitting me...?" Nick started to stand up then, hands still on Greg's shoulders. "If that's the case, the more of us there the better, right?"

"No. No... shit." Nick, Warrick, Catherine, Sara.... and House Weskers' brand of enforcement? The lab would be wiped out. There was no going back. "Nick... uh, I don't know how to explain this. House Wesker is 'traditional'." He did the air quotes to make his point. "And practically prehistoric by those standards. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Nick opened his mouth, looking at Greg. Yeah, he kind of expected that openmouthed shocked look, except he didn't expect Nick to pull at his shoulder that way. "C'mon. I'm at least going to take you home with me."

He was a coward. He knew he shouldn't, because Nick could be in harm's way, but he was terrified. And he couldn't explain it here. Maybe, he could explain it and then wander around Vegas for the night and day and try and stay ahead of them.

Run. Could he really do that until the fight started? House Braun was a big house, and he couldn't see them just challenging and not trying to win. They were a winning kinda House.

God, what the hell even made them Challenge for him? 

Nick pulled at him again. "C'mon. We still have to go by the courts."

He moved. There was nothing else he could do. "Okay."

A minute ago he had been so tired he was going to crash out in the break room. Who was he kidding, he couldn't run that long. He felt sick again.

"Then we'll get some food, cool, and call Gri-- shit." Nick's expression looked a little pinched, but he started to drag Greg over to the door anyway. "We'll figure something out.

Maybe he could just hide out at Nick's. It might work.

Like Sara might get Grissom interested enough to actually do something. Yeah. Right.

He hurried along with Nick as fast as he could, keeping his head down a little so people couldn't see his shocked expression.

There had to be some reason why he'd been Challenged for out of the blue like that. Did House Braun suddenly decide he was worth all of that trouble? It wasn't like they couldn't just find another DNA tech without unsettling a house as traditional as Wesker.

Nick didn't seem to care that he was replaceable, though. Nick was pulling him back to the locker room so they could get their stuff.

He had to sit down a moment before his legs gave out. God above, what Wesker or... any of the others, or all of the others would do to him if they got hold of him now. They would never believe he didn't incite Challenge. Never in a million years. Nick... Nick wouldn't, couldn't understand what they would do. 

He guessed most people went out and had a drink with their friends when they heard they had been Challenged for. In normal houses, the slighting he would've gotten would've been annoying, maybe even humiliating, but this... He was just plain scared as he sat on the bench and heard Nick digging into his locker to pack away his own stuff. "Greg? It'll be okay."

"Nick, I respect your judgment in a big way, but here you're totally off base." Greg shook his head. "I know I can be a bit... you know, way out there sometimes, okay a lot of the time, but okay is the last thing this is going to be."

"If we keep them from getting you," Nick pointed out. "I know House Braun can win the Challenge."

"Look, I... I want to go with you." Greg considered a moment. "And possibly hide in your closet until tomorrow night. I'm sure you have nice closets, but..."

"Hey. It's all right. We kinda... I kinda figured, at least, that your House was kinda off. I get it, Greg. I'm not stupid, and I do know what a traditional House is." Nick shoved his jacket into his bag, and reached for his sunglasses. "So, c'mon."

Greg found himself following. "Off like a two month old corpse, Nick. What do you think they're like? What do you think they do? Why do you think I'm scared shitless?"

He was sharper than he intended, the fear making him edgy. He expected to see them any and every moment even though they might not have seen the papers yet.

Which meant they kinda had a head start. Nick gave him a look, and jerked his head to Greg's locker. "Hey, you want to argue with me, we can do it in the car. Grab anything you need. It's not like a Challenge can be retracted. You can either a, work with me or b, curl up in a ball in the corner and wait for them to find you."

He would be lucky if he needed anything ever again. And now Nick was pissed at him and sounding like he was channeling Grissom or something and it was probably best if he just went along with him and shut up.

Greg grabbed his bag, to show willing and then mutely followed on behind Nick as he headed out.

They were quiet right out to Nick's Denali, where Nick waited until Greg had gotten himself into the passenger seat before he started the engine and buckled his own seat belt. "Okay. Court, then food. If you want to explain to me what's going on, I'm all ears now."

"You're the Investigator Nick, why don't you give me a clue what you all have pieced together on me?" Greg asked in a slightly calmer voice.

He pulled out of the parking space. "You're irrationally pissed off that you've been Challenged for," Nick offered first. "Because you can't unchallenge."

"Irrationally?" Greg started laughing, with a slight hint of hysteria. "Oh man, there's nothing irrational about it."

"They beat you up. The way you were talking at Lady Heather's, I can guess that they're abusing you sexually. One of these days you will end up dead, Greg. So, House Braun Challenged for you. I don't see why you're angry. Help me out."

"I'm not angry, Nick. I'm... scared." Greg looked at him. "Have you any idea what House Wesker does to those on Challenge? No one invites Challenge from House Wesker, no matter how bad it is, because it can get worse. You just said one of these days I'll end up dead, Nick. Guess what? That day is probably today."

"Sooner or later." Nick exhaled slowly. "Look. We can cover and hide you. And we will. So, be scared, but having a little hope doesn't do any harm, right?"

"I don't want any of you hurt, Nick," Greg admitted in a soft voice. "I shouldn't be letting you do this." But he was. That little bit of hope was contagious. 

"Who said you're letting me do anything?" Nick looked sideways at Greg for a moment before he put his eyes back on the road. "I think I just kidnapped you from the lab. And then I'm thinking about making you eat hamburgers in my dump of a living room. I don't know. We'll see, huh?"

Greg nodded again. He was abruptly convinced he would do anything for Nick, for Grissom and the others if he made it out alive. They deserved the sort of loyalty that his House demanded. "Sounds great, Nick."

"Cool. Just... try to relax. I know you won't, but try. We'll figure this out. I kinda wish Griss was here because he'd probably have an idea of where to hide you best."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Nicky," Greg replied allowing himself to be grateful as the first rush of fear subsided. "You have on the case."

"Cases are one thing, and real life is another," Nick pointed out quietly. "But, we'll manage, okay? What kind of food do you want?"

"Anything. Seriously." If he didn't throw it up with fear it would undoubtedly be one of his best meals. He found himself feeling pathetically grateful to the other man for even bothering to try and help out. He was right. One way or another, the Challenge had been served, House Wesker or House Braun would send out combatants to fight if Wesker didn't just cede the victory in lieu of compensation. Because if House Braun won, they got him free. A bargain, with no debt and a high salary band and only the debt of the House Champion's services to work off.

Greg knew the House Wesker fighters. No one could win against them because they never fought fair.

They just didn't, except he'd never seen a challenge placed against Wesker by one of the big overwhelming Houses like from Vegas. He'd only seen a smaller House challenge in New York. That had cost the challenging House a fighter. Greg closed his eyes while Nick drove. "Huh. I'll just stop somewhere and make it a surprise. Cool?"

"Very cool." Greg replied. And it was, it really was. He tried not to imagine what Wesker might do when he really wanted to punish someone. Him enjoying himself was bad enough and there was no point hoping he had gone to New York or one of the other House Wesker bases.

They still whispered in the bond-slave dorms that some of the 'accidents' that had depleted their ranks had been unlawful killings. But anyone who said anything, just... never managed to finish what they were saying.

Nick was halfway smiling as he drove. "So, do you want milkshakes or beer with your burger?"

"Milkshakes." Being drunk when his life was under threat probably wasn't wise. But it also meant that Nick thought he was overreacting because he wouldn't suggest it otherwise.

"Great. There's this drive in place that makes them perfect. We'll hit there after the court." After the court, after the court, like Nick really expected Greg to be able to finish up the case with him despite what was going on.

"You got all my files right?" Greg said, suddenly alarmed that he might have left loose ends. "I left the DNA files in the lab in my inbox. I don't think they've gone off to processing yet."

The case wouldn't fall apart if something happened to him, would it? He couldn't testify in court if he was dead. "Hey. I know where everything is, okay? Just... don't panic."

Greg smiled, because it was just faintly ridiculous being told not to panic and Nick didn't even know that was the case. Yet he had figured out that he was probably physically and sexually abused. It sounded pretty easy packaged up in a neat sentence. It was just words with no actual understanding. "Good. Because... you know, the case is nearly cracked and everything."

"We'll finish it," Nick promised. He probably just... didn't, couldn't understand it, couldn't wrap his mind around it. For a guy who'd had a pretty good life, how could he understand abuse like just being in House Wesker?

Best not to spoil things. Just let things go on. He probably assumed that Wesker would just abide by Challenge Amnesty and put him in the secluded room as he was meant to. "You ever been Challenged for Nick? Or know anyone that has?"

Nick was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I did. Back in Dallas, my house was Challenged for this one guy. And we lost the actual Challenge, so he got to go off with them."

"Tell me about it?" Greg asked looking over at him, wanting to know, having to know something that wasn't about his own thoughts and panicky feelings.

"Well, uh... Not sure what to tell you, actually. I mean, we all kinda wished him well and he kinda kept to himself for the last day. And then everyone went to the fight, and that was that." Yeah, that wasn't the scenario that he was facing at all. God, if he was that lucky....

"He invited Challenge?" Greg asked looking at him. That sounded like... something idyllic. Bunch of the guys, patting their buddy on the back, wishing him luck, going along to cheer on the Fight and popping a few beers and, simple and smooth, it all happened.

The guy got what he wanted and everything was happy. "Yeah. We're not sure how he did it, but we're pretty sure he did."

"So, you're not with House Braun then?" He should have noticed that. With Grissom being House Braun, and Catherine too, Nick got on so well with them he assumed...

Grissom would have had his hide for an assumption like that. He did wish he was around. Grissom always seemed to have an answer or a way to find an answer. He probably would have understood the implications of Greg being challenged for. And apparently he didn't rate being a Freeman as too great. Maybe there was something there. Greg wasn't sure.

"I'm House Braun. Kinda. I'm a trade." Nick looked sideways at Greg for a second as he started to head down towards what Greg knew was the courthouse. "My house was pretty tightly allied with Braun, and when they asked me if I wanted to make an interhouse movement and end up out here... Seemed like the adventure of a lifetime, you know?"

"Coming up to Vegas? Yeah I can see that. New York could be wild, but Vegas is weirder." Greg replied distracting himself. He was scared suddenly of getting out of the car to go anywhere.

"Weird is what you get in Vegas when you open your eyes in the morning." Nick grinned a little. "And I love it. I get to study with some of the best people in forensics, and we solve most of our cases. New York is almost too big to do that well, you know?"

"I know," Greg agreed and even as they pulled up at the courthouse he decided he would stick with Nick as long as he could. There wasn't anything else he could do and they had to see through the things on the case. It would take his mind off of things.

The Imperial courthouse was busy, and Greg tried not to jump every time he saw someone with a House Guard cuff pattern. He was aware he must look like he was hyped up and jittery on something but he couldn't stop babbling about anything and everything. Nick was pretty understanding even though Greg knew he was making an idiot of himself. In fact, the only time he was quiet was when he was allowed to eat his burger and fries on the way back to Nick's in the House Braun Enclave. 

He only made noises like he was about to orgasm up to the point Nick started giving him looks.

But it was so damned good. So damned good -- the burger was juicy, artery busters, Nick joked, when he ordered the big thick burgers with cheese and sauce and just. It was so good. Greg didn't get much opportunity to eat good food like that with all of the extra condiments on it, and the thick chocolate milkshake to go with it, well...

It was kinda like an orgasm in his mouth. Even the fries were good, salty and crisp when he popped them into his mouth before they stopped outside of Nick's apartment building.

"Here we are..."

He swallowed hastily, "So do you share?" he asked even as he tried to wipe of his hands and bag up the rubbish. "They don't mind you bringing someone home?" Building like this, Nick had to share. It looked new and clean and up market. He earned more and he'd always had to dorm-share; it seemed impossible that a place like this was there for the taking.

"Share...? Nah, man. My little place is all my own." Nick grinned and winked as he locked his vehicle. "One bedroom, kitchen, living room, big nice bathroom, nothing leaks, third floor. Back in Dallas I could hear through the walls, but not here."

Greg knew he was staring up at the place even ask he got out and waited for Nick to lead on. "That's all yours?"

Okay, he knew intellectually that his house was rough and denied their bond-slaves much of what went on elsewhere, but this was like stepping out of the dark ages. He'd tried to make himself see the bright side of stuff; he had a great job that he loved, his family was safe, he got to share sleeping sometimes with a few of his fellows.

"Yeah. We even get to paint it. When I moved up a grade, I got Warrick to come over and help me fancy it up. The floor is tile, because this is the desert. These places are built to deal with the heat we get." Nick grabbed his kit and seemed more than willing to lead Greg into the building, past the doorman.

Greg was in culture shock. He'd always assumed he was a little worse off than most people. Hell, he knew that. He never imagined he was living an entirely different kind of existence. "Wow." He lowered his voice as if he was in one of the Temples. "You decorated your place yourself?"

"Well, with Warrick's help, you know?" Nick was grinning as he headed for the bank of elevators that lined the lobby. It was like a fancy hotel, less than an apartment building. "Don't tell anyone, but Warrick does a mean job with rag painting."

"Warrick? Nah, you're kidding right?" Greg tried to imagine the other Investigator decorating, and Nick. It was all too domestic for words. A mental image that just wanted to strip off and run around making imaginary paint-smut footprints in his brain. Nick and Warrick painting. It was probably on a hot day, too, so Greg could imagine that they'd had to get half-undressed. Oh yeah.

Damn.

"Hey, Greggo? You going to come into the elevator with me?"

"Uh. Yeah, sure." There was a reason he wasn't in a normal house like normal people. Because he wasn't normal. He'd never been normal. Too bright, too valuable, too used to what they did so that sometimes he liked it. Yeah, that would really fuck with Nick's head.

Nick's muscles moving up and down as he painted the walls with rhythmic stokes... uh... strokes.

It sure was warm in these new buildings.

Nick grinned a little as he hit the button to take them up to the third floor. "You'll like it. We can hide up in here and watch TV until our brains rot. And sleep."

"Yeah, it sounds great." 

Here he was in pretty real mortal peril and instead of brilliant and ingenious plans as befitting his gaudy gem ratings he was perving over the thought of two of his coworkers getting it on in the dust sheets.

He really was doomed. He was smart, so why couldn't he figure out a way to apply those brains to self-preservation? "Cool. I feel like we've been pulling nothing but doubles for a month or two now, you know? Why's the summer always busy season for killing?"

"Heat sends people crazy?" It was hard to tell with Wesker. Greg considered himself a finely honed tightrope walker on the edge of crazy shared living space with people who would cut the rope and yodel as they swung themselves over the precipice. Crazy was pretty relative.

Experiencing the psycho puppet-Master put a lot of Vegas insanity in perspective.

Vegas insanity was pretty funny, all in all. People did weird shit that they could laugh at. "Yeah, maybe. A little more on edge, maybe. I don't know." Nick stepped forwards out of the elevator, waiting for Greg to follow him out into a tiled hallway.

He followed, staring. No wonder Lady Heather's had freaked Nick out a bit if he was used to this. "Griss live in a place like this? Catherine?"

"Catherine's got a house with her soon-to-be ex-husband. Griss has an apartment across town, one of the older House Braun places nearer the strip. I think it was new when he moved in, way back when. Warrick's up three floors from me in this building." 

That was kinda nice, except Nick could probably never pull the 'my car broke down' excuse that way.

"Cool." Greg waited as Nick opened the door. "Ever been to Griss's?" The place was... cozy. Very Nick.

The walls were a dark green, and he had a rug on the floor just inside the door that was a big green one shaped like Texas. It made the place seem a little warmer, a little less sterile and cookie cutter. "Yeah. You know how his office looks? His whole apartment looks like it."

Greg nodded. He pretty much had a fascination with Grissom's office so a house like that was a good thing. There were weird and unusual things, books all over the place. Things that might explode if poked, or bite.

Not a good thing to mix with the faint sloshing around of decorating work-colleague porn currently playing in the back of his head. He was cursed to work with good looking people.

Hell, he might as well throw Gil into the mix in his head, and toy with that impossible idea for a while. "I took him home from a bar once. Well, him and Catherine." He waggled his eyebrows a little as he locked the door behind them. "Sit down, make yourself at home."

"You're shitting me right? Grissom and Catherine? They're... horizontal lap dancing?"

Pop. There went the Grissom fantasy. Although... Hell, he should make it some sort of weird House Warming orgy thing. He'd seen all these wholesome dramas on TV of House Friends banding together to help out their fellow bond-slaves. He might as well put that misspent idealism to some pornographic use.

Nick shrugged as he wanted over to the kitchen space. "Maybe? It's just a theory Warrick had, until Catherine kind of started to come on to him a little every so often. She's breaking it off with Eddie because he's a bastard... maybe she's testing the waters?" 

"I thought Sara was working on harpooning the Great White Grissom and reeling him in," Greg replied. "I never figured Catherine... I mean, they're really close." He followed him into the kitchen. It made him just want to grin standing there. Nick had an apron out on the side. An apron.

He wanted to see if it had some stupid saying like 'kiss the cook', or maybe Nick liked to cook naked while wearing an apron. "Yeah, but they've been working together for a while. Like Brass. Griss is probably more likely to shack up with him than Sara." He opened up the fridge, and grabbed a soda, despite that they'd just had milkshakes.

Oh and there was the fantasy back. Only now Brass was in it, which was... kinda distracting. And making him think he was going blind.

"Okay, I know they're friendly, but is this another theory or fact?"

Nick's mouth twitched a little as he took a swig of his coke and then offered the bottle to Greg. He had enough milkshake left over that he could dump some in and make a float. Kinda. "I always thought you were right at the center of the department gossip train, Greg. I'm kinda disappointed. Except you came here after that decomposing body that fell out of a car on them."

"There's gossip and there's... evidence." Greg took a drink and nearly belched at him. "Y'know. Gossip I know, but if all the gossip were true I doubt any of us would be allowed to work with each other. What's the gossip on me?" He might as well have a good laugh.

"Gossip on you?" Nick looked like he has to think about it, and maybe no one gossips about Greg Sanders. He wasn't sure whether that's flattering or not. "Well, there was a little gossip about you and Hodges. And you and Sara, but that was coming from Bobby, and you know, Bobby could hear someone sneeze and say they've got pneumonia. I think he does that 'cause he spends so long with his guns."

"Hodges?" Greg knew his eyes were ridiculously wide. "Why? What was I meant to have done? And the Sara thing? I flirted, she cut me dead." Pretty much like everyone in the lab. "If she's looked at me more than once it's only because my name begins with G."

"That's why it's gossip without evidence," Nick pointed out as he nudged Greg into the living room a little. "Now, there are a lot of things with evidence. Like Sara pining for Griss. And Catherine has definitely hit on Warrick."

"And what does Warrick think about that?" Greg took the cue and flopped down on the couch. This was what normal people did. Minus the mental porn movies about house decoration and blinding panic. People talked and chilled and gossiped about work and maybe... got comfortable.

Somehow he doubted that Nick would fall for the 'I don't want to die a virgin' line.

But man, he could hope. "Warrick... is a kinda traditional guy." Nick snuck the soda back out of Greg's hand, and reached for the remote control. "Not bad traditional. He just won't start anything until Catherine's shaken off her soon-to-be ex."

He, of course, was bad traditional as opposed to Warrick's good traditional. This also did not bode well for the little fuck-buddy scenario he had mentally cued up. "I can see that. So what about you? Got your eye on anyone?"

He had to stop his expression from signaling with great immaturity, 'Ooo! Pick me! Pick Me!'

"Yeah, kinda. There's this guy who works mostly in the lab and I think he's pretty hot." Nick nudged Greg's shoulder a little, and passed the soda back.

"Yeah? Wh-..." Greg was suddenly derailed as spectacularly as a high-speed train and no Meta in sight. "We're not talking Hodges here? Or... Bobby, or..." Shit, who else was there?

"It's cool. It'll come to you." Nick turned on the set and started to surf channels. Yeah, he'd figure it out. It seemed like he had a little time now, and if he could make it to the next evening, hell. He had a whole world of possibilities out in front of him.

He felt dazed. If he survived and if they tried transferring him maybe he could try running. Hodges had made it. Admittedly his House wasn't a bunch of killers, and didn't have a Death-Mark hunter as a boss, but he had brains right? If he was alive for the fight, and if Wesker transferred him out, maybe he could use his brain and get himself out of there. Run to Vegas. no... no they would expect that. Run to a different branch of House Braun and....

Yeah, all that because Nick had implied he thought he was hot.

But it wasn't just that. Nick stood for a lot of things, and the amazingly weird comfort of just sitting down on a sofa and watching a TV and... and just being. No more, no less than that. Nick just wanted him to be, just for a few hours. Just eat fast food and crash, and it was probably the only solution to Greg's stress that Nick could think of, but.

But maybe it helped a little.

* * *

Dinner with Sam Braun was something that Catherine supposed was pretty impressive for most people to even think about. He was the head of a big House, but to her, he was kind of a doting Uncle, or something along those lines. He'd been in her life long before she'd understood the system, long before she knew that she was actually less than technically free to do what she wanted. 

There was no way that she could see the man in the same frightening way that so many other people did when she remembered him sleeping over at her mother's home, playing with her during breakfast and making shapes out of her blueberry pancakes for her.

No, dinner with Sam was usually a breath of fresh air, a familiar thing to do before her very hectic day started. He liked to know how things were going in the House, a real unbiased view that wasn't filtered before it got to him. And Catherine was always willing to be honest with the man.

Of course the blueberry pancakes he sometimes arranged to be there out of sheer devilry were now creations by some of the finest chef's in Vegas and he rarely made shapes with them any more, but even so, their meeting generally brought back good memories. Some of the better ones of her childhood at least.

"Sam, you're looking..." She paused a moment as she looked him over, as he smirked at her. "Like the cat that got the cream. What have you been up to?"

He was still smirking a little as he gestured for her to sit down. "Mugs, please. When am I not up to something?" Sam winked as he unwrapped his silverware from the beautifully folded napkin that had been in front of him.

"That is a very good point," Catherine replied as she sat down. "The day you stop scheming, Sam, is the day Vegas stops gambling."

"You know how in your cases, sometimes everything just falls beautifully right into your hands?" He let that suggestion hang a little, without elaboration as he gestured for the staff to serve now that Catherine was at the table. 

"Serendipity," Catherine replied amused that she was using a Grissom word when most of the time she gently mocked him for saying such things. "Yeah. Sometimes you just know you're on the trail. Had a robbery case like that this week."

He nodded, and sat back a little while one of the slaves -- pretty high ranked for pouring wine and putting down plates -- filled their glasses. But Sam only used the best and he could afford to compensate them for their work. "That's enough. You can go." The implication that if they were needed again, he'd just call was pretty strong.

Sam just didn't need to vocalize that fact. "Serendipity is a good word for it, Catherine."

"So. Declared a war? Sealed a deal. Got that tiny little toehold into the Imperial Court?" Catherine smiled at him. All his hopes and dreams were no stranger to her and she had never betrayed that trust, not even to her work colleagues, no matter how close they were.

He smiled until the door closed behind the people who'd set their food down in front of them. Catherine shouldn't have been too surprised that, yes, it was gourmet-smelling blueberry pancakes. Well, the sugar and fruit content alone should get her through a ten hour shift without any problem.

Only Sam would do a red wine with pancakes. "That last one. You know Judge Millander...?"

"Who doesn't? He was all over the news with the Peacecraft-Khushrenada Adjudication a week or so back. Two point House War decision. Not many would have the balls to call on that," Catherine pointed out, getting straight to the point, and to her pancakes.

"And now he's beholden to my House, because I managed to grant him a favor that he's been eyeing for a while." His smirk was still hovering, and it made Catherine wonder just what it was that someone like that wanted. He cut a triangle-shaped sliver of pancake and started to eat.

"Okay, Sam, you've hooked me," Catherine drawled. "What favor could you grant an Imperial Judge?" 

They were exceptionally powerful. Even the Great Houses courted their favor if they were high profile enough and they had the power to declare the Emperor himself defeated and replaced if they were qualified to a certain level. There were very few favors she could imagine a Judge might want that he could not take himself.

"Well, it was a case of serendipity. It all started when your supervisor, Grissom, came to me about a challenge. He wanted me to challenge for ownership of that Sanders boy from House Wesker. Now, if he'd filed the usual paper application, I would've had to say no. They're too unstable to bother challenging. And Mr. Grissom is so far in debt that it's laughable for him to even suggest adding time to his contract. But I was feeling magnanimous, so I told him I'd see about it."

"Wait, wait..." Catherine paused with a forkful of the pancakes to her mouth. "Grissom came and asked you to Challenge for Greg? But that's..."

Crazy? Surreal? Stupid?

"...Grissom," she had to acknowledge after a moments thought.

He smirked a little. "Exactly. The kind of person I expected for House Gerard to turn out. You have to admit that it takes balls to personally come to ask for that, but I think he still thinks he's a Freeman most days."

"I have it on good authority that Grissom was like this when he was bonded before, then free and even now," Catherine smiled a little. "Come on, own up. You respect him for doing that for one of his own. You would have kicked his ass if he asked a favor for himself."

Gil never would though, Catherine knew that. Perhaps if he were a little more selfish and needy he might need to interact with people some more. 

Sam tilted his head down, grinning a little to himself. "All right, I'll own up. That's why I agreed to it. The challenge takes place tomorrow night. When Mr. Grissom gets back from his little... trip, you'll have to tell him all about it. I'm sure that we'll win."

"You've Challenged for Greg?" Her pancakes would be going cold if she wasn't careful. Then the implications of the rest of the sentence fell into place. "Sam. Sam, what have you done with my boss?"

"You see, Mugs, that goes back to Judge Millander. He's apparently a man with pretty discriminating tastes, and he'd expressed to me, while drunk and at a party that I hosted, that he really liked Mr. Grissom. In a way that... I'd just as soon not think about." He was gesturing with his fork while he talked, another piece of pancake flapping about on the tines.

"You've..." Catherine didn't know whether to laugh or be appalled. "You've sold my supervisor as a Pleasure Slave? To an Imperial Judge? Sam."

"Just for a week," he cut in. "And there are stipulations. I want him back in one piece." Still. God, she really didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or just be shocked. Grissom. Gil, as a Pleasure Slave. Gil down on his knees before a Judge.

Just the thought of Judge Millander wanting Gil enough to beholden himself to a House was a little scary. Gil could be passionate but... Doing that for Greg?

"Oh you better win that Challenge," Catherine said. "Damn, I can't believe it. Are you sure your fighter can take a Wesker? They've got a bad reputation. I know Greg deserves to be the hell out of there."

"My fighter was a runner from New York's House Wesker branch," Sam smirked. "You fight fire with fire in this town. Fire that in this case has had five years of far more sophisticated training than he had before he got to me. Trust me. It's an easy win." He took a sip of his wine. "You see, all of the pieces fell together for me. Millander is very pleased with what I arranged for him, and after I got that call, I figured it was time to call the challenge."

Catherine very nearly did choke on her sip of wine. "You deliberately called me to dinner so you could do this to me didn't you? Sam...." She looked serious a moment. "He is okay, isn't he? Grissom?"

His eyebrows went up a little. "Oh, now come on. The Judge might have odd taste in what he wants for a Personal, but he's an upstanding citizen. The way he was talking, well. I'd almost think that Mr. Grissom was really enjoying it."

She looked at him. "He's doing this, he's getting you the favor and you'll get a damn good DNA specialist out of it too... You win coming and going, Sam." She didn't take any crap even from her Head of House.

He spread his hands in some kind of show of innocence. "The House wins, Catherine. The House always wins in the long run, no matter how you bet. Everyone wins."

Except, maybe, Gil. Catherine needed to think about the implications there. "If there's one thing working as an Investigator has shown me, Sam? It's that nothing every runs true to plan." Catherine considered. "Does Sanders know? Any of the department?"

"Sanders was served with notice this afternoon. The rest of your department..." Sam trailed off with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "We all know how word gets around with you all. Being an Investigator also means being nosy."

"I meant about Grissom," Catherine asked. "You're being evasive, Sam."

"Am I?" He cut another piece of pancake, and chewed it with frustrating slowness before he actually bothered to answer. "Not that I know of. I mean, he didn't stop to tell you, did he? So at a guess... he doesn't want anyone knowing."

"That's..." All too much like Gil for her to dismiss it. "Okay. Okay. Sanders is probably going to be the cheapest DNA expert you'll ever hope to get. And the best. He's a little out there, but he's... good." It was her way of asking without asking for Sam to look after his investment. She never went with a hand out to Sam Braun, never asked favors.

Catherine could have asked him to sort out the mess with Eddie, but somehow that would have been wrong. She had screwed up, so she wanted to fix it. She'd picked Eddie, despite all of Sam's subtle warnings that no, no, it wasn't a good idea. And she was damn well going to fix it herself.

"I know. His reviews have been just short of glowing. After we win him, we'll make sure he enjoys being part of the House." Probably offer him every temptation possible to get him to pay off slower, too, if she knew Sam. And he'd still probably get himself paid out in a few years, six or seven more.

"Good." Catherine ate a little more of her delicious pancake. "And this little maneuver is going to get you some Imperial blessing?"

His smile all but answered for him. "Exactly... through the Judge, of course. It hinged on your supervisor's dubious ability to actually impress someone of his caliber, but it looks like he's succeeded."

"Grissom could impress in any field," Catherine replied. "Though I admit it, Sam, I'm trying to get my head around him as a Personal. That's the last thing I would have ever thought of."

"It wasn't the first thing that would've sprung to my mind, no." He tipped his head a little. "And apparently it's not yours, either, even though you've probably slept with the man. That should say something right there."

Catherine arched an eyebrow at him. "Play nice, Sam. So Grissom doesn't look to rack up increments on that particular scale... that doesn't mean he can't play the game. And he puts his heart and soul into his team and his work. It's a pretty safe bet that he'd try the best he could for one of us."

"Oh, I know it's a safe bet."

Except Gil… wasn't very good with intimacy. Maybe not-good wasn't the right term for it. He was good in bed, careful and gentle and conscientious those few times that they'd been together, and he'd seemed to help ease the stress away after some of their worst cases. But he wasn't comfortable suggesting or starting it, and Catherine couldn't remember the last time that Gil had seriously dated someone. There was that anthropologist who'd consulted on the odd case, from another of Braun's allies, but she'd seen Gil standing in the hall with the woman, fumblingly assuring her that, yeah, no, really, he understood. It just wouldn't work out.

In some ways he was always the nice guy it was never going to work out with. Sara obsessed over him and at least in that case, he seemed to know that it wasn't going to work. She had never managed to actually ask how he knew that. She suspected some messy story behind it all.

"So when is he due back?"

"Five days. I'll give him a couple of days recovery time, and then he can get back to work." And that was that, like Sam honestly thought everything would work out that simply.

"Sam, you do realize this is likely to screw with his mind don't you?" Catherine said carefully.

He lifted an eyebrow slightly while he finished off his glass of wine, and picked up a piece of bacon. "Really? How so?"

Catherine looked at him a moment, realization dawning. "Oh, I get it. I get it, Sam. You want it to screw with his mind for having the temerity to ask you for a favor. You want him to experience being a Personal to learn his place."

"You know, Mugs, I think you give me too much credit. Actually, I don't care too much either way about how he reacts to this. He asked for this favor, offered anything I wanted. I found a way to take out what he owed me. Anything else, Catherine..." Sam laughed a little. "You give my ability to scheme too much credit."

"You forget I listened to all your excuses to drop in on a certain Pleasure Slave and her kid," Catherine replied with a twitch of her mouth. "Admittedly, some of them were... lame, Sam. Really lame."

"You know, my car battery just died a lot." He winked as he smiled at her. "It was the damnedest thing."

"Even then I thought it was odd that someone like you couldn't buy a decent car," Catherine smiled finishing up her pancake. "But I just thought you had a passion for my mother's pancakes."

"Oh, that was part of it." He smiled a little, ducking his head just for a moment to hide laughter. She could remember that he'd done that for years, tilting his head down slightly when he really laughed. "I'll tell you what, Mugs..."

He trailed off when her cell phone started to ring. "You might want to answer that."

She got the phone out and looked at it. "Oh it's just Nick. I'll call him back in a minute. I've got the hit the road anyway Sam. He's probably wanting to tell me about the Challenge."

Catherine could tell that Sam was mentally placing Nick in his mind, before he nodded. "All right, I suppose I'll let you run off now. Take care of yourself."

"Thanks for the dinner, Sam," she said getting up and leaning over to give him a friendly peck on the cheek and a pat on the arm. "And thanks for letting me know."

Grissom might need some help after he got back and even if he didn't want to tell anyone, it was better someone knew so he had someone to turn to if the experience had been rough.

"You're welcome. I thought you might want to know. After all, I like him better than Eddie."

Sam kept a watchful smiling eye on her as she let herself out of the exquisitely appointed private dining room. Now Catherine not only had the lab to keep her mind on, but Greg, and how Gil was going to come out of this. Judge Millander...

She couldn't even guess how that would affect Gil.

But first Nick. She had the phone out even as she walked towards the exit, waiting for Nick to pick up. "Come on, Nick, I know you're there you just called...."

One ring, two, and then a third... "Cath? Catherine?"

"Sorry, Nick... I was busy," she replied, still walking. Nick sounded weird. "You okay?"

"No! Two guys with fucking machine guns just broke down my door and took Greg!"

"What?" Catherine had to stop a moment. "Did they do anything to you?"

Greg... She'd worry about him when she got the story out of Nick.

"Yeah, uh, head injury, my, my scalp's bleeding a little, nothing big. We need to... do something. Greg knew them, they're from his House. I don't think he's going to make it long enough for the challenge to happen."

"Look, sit tight Nicky, I'm on my way over. Warrick..." Was probably on his way in unless he was sleeping in or something. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Call Warrick, see if he's left for work."

This was not a twist she thought Sam had accounted for. Perhaps the sly devil had miscalculated, and at the cost of one of her friends.

After all, what kind of House played with the rules of a challenge? Not a House with any honor or dignity, not a House that was deserving of any kind of respect. A House... the kind of House that would harm one of their most useful slaves.

Sam should have thought about that. Grissom should have thought about that but... it was ingrained into the mind that everyone respected Challenge Amnesty. There could be serious consequences for that sort of breach of House behavior. There could be Imperial sanctions if they lost the challenge. They must be pretty confident of winning.

But first, Nick and his head wound. Grissom would never forgive her if she lost his lab team after having been looking after them for only a week.

* * *

Expectations and reality seldom met, and usually in a disappointing way. This... This was different from what he'd expected, every moment was different than Gil had expected, but in a good way.

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to enjoy being Paul's Personal quite as much as he was. The expectation had been that it would be a hellish week, but three days into being 'owned' by him, and Paul... was something of a kindred spirit. He was brilliant and devoted to his work, lonely. Gil wasn't usually aware of how alone he was most times, but knowing that he wasn't alone, soaking in the attention and the company, made the lack that he'd been living with all the sharper.

The intensity of the time they spent together packed their time with very pleasing explorations of their common interests, the best food, wines, walks out in the area, more art and more sex.

That in itself seemed to make Paul bloom with a warmth and affection that made the Millander he had met on the first day seem like half a man. He still had a taste for being very firmly in control of things but Gil found himself more than happy with the way that had progressed. He didn't seem interested in pain as such, more in pushing Gil's control and seeing the moment where he let go as if that was an incredible miracle.

It was good to be so intimate with someone, and he was starting to get a glimmer of Paul's apparent issues. In the shower he'd seen the surgery scars.

Faint, yes. Faint but there, under sparse dark chest hair, were the lines that seemed to outline each of Paul's pecs, contrasting pale against the darker hue of his skin. And he'd felt Paul ride him hard with Gil well restrained, watched the muscles of Paul's lean body shift in the faint natural light of the night that crept in through an un-shuttered window. Paul had fucked himself onto Gil for a long, almost unbearably long time before he orgasmed, slumping to rest on top of Gil for a few minutes. There should have been semen on Gil's stomach, on Paul's fingers, but there wasn't. There had only been the slickness of the lubricant that Paul had used, and warm breath against Gil's ear.

He was pretty sure that Paul was a transsexual. What he didn't understand was why that was such a horrifying thing to the man. There were transgenders and sexuals in the Great Houses and even in some of the Imperial lines in Europe. There was no status stigma against it, so he wasn't sure if that was all of the issue and he wasn't going to poke and pry because Paul was doing a good job of challenging his own limits.

Like what they were doing right now.

Lady Heather's restraints were lying on the floor, but the long silk scarves that he'd been sent with were in his hands while he gently rubbed at Paul's wrists before he actually started to tie them.

"Not too tight," Paul said again. "I'm still not sure if I can do this." He looked up at Gil again. "But I want to try."

"If you can't do it, just say. If you decide you don't like it, I'll stop the moment you say so. It's as easy as that, Paul. You're still the one in control." It was easy for his voice to fall soft and low, convincing. Gil knew how to gently tie a knot, just because... he knew how. He also knew how to duct-tape someone so that they couldn't technically escape, and he could duct-tape someone like a non-victim pretending to be a victim.

Tricks of the trade and other strange pieces of information he picked up in the line of his work. But it was working well, and it made it easy for him to tie one scarf around Paul's wrist before threading it through the decorative bars in the bed's headboard.

"I know, I just.... Well, you told me how apprehensive you were and what Lady Heather did, and I... this has always been my biggest failing with relationships," Paul admitted. "I can't let go, I have to be in control to the point I don't even want to try any further."

And Paul needed to let go. Just for a little while. It wasn't even that he wanted it, so much as he needed it. "It's safe to let go here, Paul." All Gil had was a Collar and his cuffs on. He was technically at Paul's mercy for the next week for everything from food and water on up.

He was particularly careful when he secured that scarf to the railing, and moved on to tie Paul's other wrist. Gil didn't loom over top of him, just leaned to the side.

Paul pulled a little, the silk slipping just a little. "I don't really feel anything different yet," he said speculatively. 

"It's not really in the tying up," Gil offered as he threaded the silk up to a different rail. "It's in not being able to respond normally."

"Another lesson from Lady Heather?" Millander asked and smiled, even if he sounded just a little strained. "Tell me again what it's like?"

"It's like that moment when you're at the top of a roller coaster. Except it keeps going down, and you can't put the brakes on. The only thing you can do is... trust that your partner won't let it end badly." Gil sat back a little once Paul's hands were secured up over his head, and put fingers gently on Paul's chest.

"I do trust you," Paul said looking at him. "You've tr-trusted me, and it's been good. It's b-been really good. I've n-never been able t-to do this with anyone."

Those trust issues that Gil knew he should try to get a grasp of, but had no idea of where to start. But he was being careful, leaning down to kiss the side of Paul's neck, hands roaming, touching, rubbing, exploring because he hadn't had the opportunity so far. The leather of his hand restraints had scarred with half-moon shapes from Gil clenching his hands in frustration at not being able to move. It had still been good. Better than good and he was hoping that he could give some of that to Paul and maybe that might be the catalyst to get him to talk.

The very fact he had considered that made him worry how much this experience was changing him.

"Ah...ah! That's... that's good..." Paul gasped a little twisting against the looser bonds. His breathing had quickened quite a lot and he seemed to be responding well.

"Good. You're doing great..." Gil closed his eyes, and slid down, sucking and kissing at Paul's neck while one hand moved sideways to rub over a nipple. He shouldn't think, shouldn't let his mind wander, shouldn't think past the now, because in a few more days, life would be back to normal. Or not.

It was probably wrong of him to enjoy what they had been doing. He'd been steeling himself for disaster and horror and had ended up having some of the best sex in his life, charming and intelligent company and generally a very unconventional good time.

Paul was making some sort of gasping noise as he did that, quivering as if every nerve was wound up and tight all of a sudden. But it sounded like he wanted more.

It sounded like a good sound, so Gil continued the motion, pressed again, got comfortable with touching Paul, with getting him to make those sounds. He sucked a little lower, kissing from Paul's neck to his collarbone.

It wasn't exactly clear where things went wrong. If Paul had been showing any warning signs, they were well disguised in the growing incoherent sounds and word fragments he was making. Half the time he was asking for more and then muddle in he'd stutter a choked sounding "N-no..." but then be demanding he be touched more. As signals went they were fluctuating wildly, spinning out of control -- and so was Millander.

It hadn't even moved past harmless kissing and caressing, but Gil could feel the body beneath his shivering, tense with it, so he pressed gently, tried to soothe, and lifted his head. "Paul?"

He wasn't looking at him any more. He was staring through him, his eyes so dilated with apparent fear that they appeared nearly black. "I c-c-can't move... I... c-c-can't move..." It was a hoarse tight whisper in a tight terrified voice. "I... I... got to... g-g-got to..."

"Paul? Paul, listen to me. Paul, it's Gil, just calm down..." He shifted forwards, kneeling over Paul, moving fast to untie Paul's wrists. Fuck. Something had happened.

The moment one hand was loose it was if Gil had lit the fuse on high explosives. Millander exploded into violence as if he was fighting for his life against invisible assailants and one unfortunately flesh and blood one.

He was screaming, yelling, a far cry from the softly spoken man who had been so easy to please before.

Gil was still, still shocked when he felt the hard punch catch his left side, and tried to stay where he was, leaning over Paul, fingers shaking, fumbling, shit shit, goddamned silk was so hard to untie when another punch landed and Paul's tied up hand was jerking, making the knot tighter until Gil slipped his finger in and used force to pin Paul's wrist to the mattress so he could get the knot.

On later reflection, that had been a bad idea, too.

There was a saying about fighting 'tooth and nail' and Paul in his blind panic demonstrated the truth of the old adage by punching, scratching and biting any bit of flesh that came close enough. 

"Y-y-you can't do it! I'll.... s-s-stop you! Stop!" He bit down hard, just at the edge of Gil's scrotum, and Gil jerked away from him sharply. 

Gil had never been much of a fighter, and he'd gotten the knot mostly undone before that final pain hit him. He did what most men did in that situation; he instinctively tried to curl up to protect himself and fell off the bed between that and Paul's kicking.

Paul tugged himself free, kicking at him again. "Y-You killed him! Y-you killed him!" he shouted at him over and over, grabbing whatever came to hand to hurl at him, as if to drive him off.

"Paul, what, whatever you're seeing, it's not..." Shit, that hurt so bad, he couldn't quite stand up, couldn't get his feet under him to try to stand or really even effectively defend himself. Paul was stronger than he looked, and when he grabbed the table lamp, Gil imagined that he saw it coming at him in slow motion.

The only thing he could do was turn, let his shoulder catch the force of it when blown glass shattered, and fold in on himself. Protecting the head, stomach, hands, face -- it was human nature. Gil had seen enough bodies on the slab with 'defensive' wounds like that.

The sound of shattering seemed to be enough to snap Millander from whatever flash back he was in to the present day. "Oh my God. Oh... God..." He staggered back, staring at his hands and then at Gil again.

Gil wasn't going to move yet. It was better to stay curled up, safe, protect himself because that was all that he could do. He could fire a gun with precision in the field, but this wasn't the field. This wasn't his job, and while he'd been trained to deal with stressed suspects, physical attack on his person was something else.

"Gil?" Paul was kneeling down next to him, and Gil heard the floorboard creak. "G-Gil? What have I done?" Tentative, shaking fingers reached to touch him and there was something that sounded suspiciously like a sob to Gil. He was only half sure that it wasn't him.

His shoulder was on fire, the insides of his legs hurt, his side hurt, his balls hurt -- where did Gil start? He didn't, couldn't, because he flinched from Paul for a moment, instinctive reaction. Gil wasn't near as bad as Paul about touch, apparently, but he didn't think well through pain, and Paul had just thrown a lamp at him. It was allowed. "Y-you..."

"Thank god… thank god, I thought I'd, I'd killed you," Paul replied. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Gil." He was crying a little, almost unconsciously in with his words. "Can you move? Do... should I call the paramedics?"

He breathed in, slowly, exhaled, and struggled not to whine. "I... I should be fine." God, not the paramedics, because then Paul might call the whole thing off and he needed to get Greg out of that damned House.

"Here, let me help you on to the bed and I'll... try and fix the damage I've done." Paul wiped at his eyes for a moment. "I... I owe you an explanation. I swear, I'll tell you when you're okay. I never wanted to hurt you." He reached, pulled at him gently, easing Gil up towards the bed. It made broken pieces of glass dig into his skin, and Gil bit his bottom lip as Paul pulled at him. 

Keep moving, don't think, don't feel the pain, don't... think about explanations or anything else until he was actually in a state to listen and be receptive and... "Oh, god."

"Sorry, sorry," Millander apologized again. "I'll get the medical kit from the bathroom. Just..." He was very gentle and looked as if he'd do anything to take back hurting Gil. "Just hold on a moment. Lie down, that's it."

On his side. The worst wasn't the few strong punches, it was the glass in his shoulder and the pain in his balls. And the utter clash that was Paul, before he'd lost control, during, and then after. None of them fit, because Gil didn't have to context.

He was left alone for a few minutes before Millander came back, turning on the full lights. "I have some antiseptic swabs, and some anesthetic cream. I'll pick out the glass. I don't think you need stitches but the kit has some of those butterfly ones. Hold still, Gil. I'll clean you up."

"Okay." The best he could do was stay still, trying not to think. He could feel the bed shift behind him. Paul probably had tweezers. It was a miracle that neither of them had stepped in any of it, but maybe they had. Gil was too off, too... something to be sure. Maybe he had.

Small fragments were picked out, and a murmured apology for each painful flinch or whimper. The antiseptic stung, but at least it cleaned his shoulder up and the dressing meant the wounds would scab up easily. Particular care was made to the bite on his balls.

"I... can't believe I bit you here."

Part of Gil was almost glad that Lady Heather had had him shaved before he'd left the Dominion. It made cleaning easier, even if the shift onto his back so Paul could tend to that made him grimace. 

"That makes two of us." There, that was probably the most coherent thing Gil had managed in fifteen minutes.

Paul looked up at the sound of his voice. "You're still talking to me, then?" he asked. "Gil, I... I'm sorry."

Everyone said that, but he sounded sorry. Paul sounded genuinely sorry, and Gil closed his eyes tightly. Either he'd been there too long already, and his perspective was skewed, or his instincts were...

Not really good anyway. Just think of why he was there, and it would all get a little easier. "That's... a start."

"I lost control. I hoped I wouldn't but..." He dabbed at the area with the anesthetic cream before dressing it and moving on to the bruises. "I did. I always have."

Gil watched Paul, quiet as he checked over Gil's skin for anything that looked worse than skin deep. His side was going to ache for a couple of days, but he'd be fine. None of it was permanent. Transient pain, transient confusion. He closed his eyes again, trying to center himself.

"Who were you trying to drive off...?"

"The men who murdered my father," Paul replied after a pause. "I... don't usually talk about it. I was too weak, too young, too much a girl to stop them." He winced as if in pain. "I was born with a condition. Female genetics but my body... wasn't sure. My mother wanted a girl, my father a boy. I tried to be both but my mother disapproved of it."

"You're... very much a man now." And an Imperial Judge. Gil cracked his eyes open, trying to read Paul. 

Still trying to read him, despite that he hurt and that Paul had just lashed out at him without any warning, more violently than he'd been expecting.

He could see nothing but guilt and remorse from the other man. "I know... I had surgery to make the abnormalities complete. My father was a traditionalist. Boys were Fighters, Masters, Freemen and girls were Pleasure Slaves, fragile and... I tried to be who he wanted but when they came for him, I was too scared. All the things he hated. I was the daughter my mother wanted when I should have been the son. The son wouldn't have been so scared he couldn't move. Wouldn't have hidden. The son would have run out there and stopped them."

Paul's fingers were unsteady over the red blotch on Gil's side that he knew would blossom into a bruise. Gil sighed, and watched Paul's motions, thinking, remembering the Death-Marks Paul had claimed. "Survivor's guilt," Gil murmured.

"They nearly didn't believe me. It was staged as suicide," Paul replied touching him gently, wiping at his eyes again. "It was only that... that this society puts a literal value on a person's life and my father's House wanted the unlawful death compensation so that they appealed the first decision. I kept thinking, this shouldn't be like this. Justice shouldn't be like this, it should be free. But it's not... because if there had been no price on him and compensation to claim he would have been declared a suicide. Justice was done. For a price."

"That explains those Death-Marks you claimed." Staged suicides, but Gil had thought it was a statement about cowardice. Maybe that had been projecting, Gil just wasn't sure anymore. "Paul? Just... please lie down. I'll be fine." In pain, but fine. As long as he didn't move his leg and nudge his balls...

"I had to test the system," Paul replied as he packed the things away and lay down with him. "I've never wanted anyone to know that. Pauline Millander was meant to die back then. And there has only ever been Paul."

"Which one are you, really...?" Curiosity and fading shock were warring with each other as he turned slightly to watch Paul rather than looking around the room. Paul's tidy bedroom was a mess now; the scarves were still tied to the rails at the head of the bed, pillows had fallen off, and Gil was vaguely aware that in the morning, they'd have to clean up the lamp. They, or possibly him. And in the morning he could see if the bite and his shoulder looked as sharply painful as they felt.

"I don't know," Paul replied leaning in to him. "I've always felt... different. Wrong somehow. As if I was faking being the same as everyone else. If people knew that..."

It took Gil a moment to make himself move, reaction time sluggish now that the world was starting to make sense around him again. "Even now?" Personal. He was supposed to be personal, and... It was almost easy to shift, tentatively reaching a hand to comfort Paul. "I think most people fake their confidence. The whole world does it."

"I've never told anyone," Paul replied. "I knew I could get angry. I took Death-Marks trying to make that something constructive, but I never thought I could hurt anyone I cared about."

He wasn't cut out for this, for thinking and understanding words quite like that. Gil shifted, forcing himself to ignore the pain while he gently rubbed, almost massaging at Paul's shoulder. "You're... consciously aware of it. That's a start."

"Somewhere, I've always been afraid I could do something like this to someone I cared for," Millander held on to him more like a child than an adult. "It's scared me to walk around with that inside me. That I could kill or hurt not because it was deserved, but because someone was in the wrong place and time. Like I nearly did to you."

Once Paul was holding him, it was easier for Gil to fit Paul against him, to move his hands and arms effectively to hold him. Consoling his attacker, and part of Gil wondered what Catherine would think of that. Other than 'Gil's finally lost it', except it was the only thing he could think of doing. Paul was tense, but warm and the sensation was almost grounding for Gil. "You came back to yourself, Paul. It was... just a lamp."

"Why are you holding me? Why are you being so forgiving?" Paul asked after a long moment of silence. "Is this what you expected when you were asked to come here?"

He'd promised to be honest, and Gil almost wished that he hadn't. "That... you might possibly be violent. I did investigate the Death-Marks to make sure they were real Death-Marks and not staged Death-Mark claimings, as well as being staged suicides." He couldn't quite look at Paul when he said that, and it was easier to tip his head in, leaning to press his face against Paul's neck.

Paul was silent a moment. "And yet still you came, believing that was possible."

Gil only had to nod to that, eyes closed as he breathed quietly, still holding Paul and being held and hurting. There was a tiny bit in the back of his head that decided that Greg would have noted the scene as 'really fucked up'.

"I wish I loved you, Gil," Paul replied brushing at his hair slightly. "Maybe in time I could. But I'm not even sure I know what it is, only that this is the closest I've ever been."

And it wasn't close at all, was it? Owning another human being, controlling them, and having them let themselves be controlled that way. Love was... maybe Love didn't really exist. Gil had flashes of yearning, fascination, infatuation, all of it shot down hard and fast before there was ever a 'maybe, in time'. 

He shouldn't have been smiling when he remembered the first time he'd slept with Catherine, odd tipped swell of hope and maybe a little pride before she'd said something to try to soothe his nerves that had done the exact opposite. It was almost appropriate to quote her just then, and Gil did. "There's nothing wrong about comfort without love." 

"But in the end it's what we all want. Power and love. Perhaps you can only have one, not the other," Millander kissed him gently. "Have you ever loved, Gil?"

"I'm... not sure what it is." His team probably didn't count by most people's technical definitions, but he cared, maybe loved, all of them. Gil wanted them safe and well and achieving, and... That was what had gotten him there in the first place.

"There are those who would say that you being here is an act of love," Millander replied softly. "Perhaps you love too much, rather than not enough."

Quiet again. It was almost possible to think that what had happened... hadn't happened. "That's... an odd thing to say." Particularly if Paul didn't know what he debt to Sam Braun was, didn't know why he was willing to be there.

"I cannot think of anything else except worry for someone that would keep you here, after what I did," Paul replied.

"You... threw a lamp," Gil reiterated, downplaying it gently as he could. "It... It's been far better than I'd expected this to be, Paul." He wasn't going to think about the momentary berserker rage that Paul had had, or that he'd bit his balls, and it still ached, and he did think about the fact that maybe Paul was right. If it had been for himself, he probably wouldn't have gone to those lengths.

"I'll take that as a compliment, but I know I hurt you," Millander replied. "I trust you, Gil. That's a rare thing. I don't trust anyone... I think it's you. I'm willing to bet that even if people don't like you, they know to trust you. Maybe it's because you never give the impression that you want anything from anyone. I remember that from Court. From when we talked. Most people toady to a Judge. You never have, you just talked."

"I thought you were interesting, and actually interested in the cases. A lot of Judges aren't." Gil managed something like a laugh. What a strange conversation to have while naked and wrapped around each other. It almost belonged over coffee cups. "You are interesting."

Paul chuckled. "Transsexual Imperial Judge, with a murdered father? That probably is interesting, yes. There was a time when I was sure that someone knowing would mean… my life was over. Now, I can't even remember why I felt that."

"Fear can conjure up scenarios for the mind that are more graphic than reality." Gil leaned back a little, feeling somewhat more in grasp of himself as he looked at Paul's face. "There's no shame in being different."

"If you've freed me from that fear Gil, then you've given me the biggest gift anyone possibly could." No matter that if he had, it had been totally unplanned, and unpremeditated.

"I hope... for your sake, Paul, that you are." A completely separate issue from the control issues, but it was a start. Gil closed his eyes a little, shifting close again. "Could we rest a while, please?'

"Let's just get in the bed instead of on top," Paul murmured as he gently moved the sheet from under them, then haphazardly over them both. "There. I think we both need rest."

"And a vacuum cleaner in the morning." The change of positions, face to face instead of Paul curling up behind Gil, was probably notable, probably meant something, but Gil's head was starting to hurt. If he was going to have a migraine, sleeping right through it was the best option there was. 

And come the morning maybe things would have changed...

* * *

There were hands -- huge hands like meat plates pushing at the back of his neck holding him in position. It was hard to suck someone's cock when your nose was bleeding. Greg was dimly aware of that irreverent fact as he tried to slow the process down to buy him any extra moments of life he could find.

Any faint hope that he might be kept or that they might risk the challenge vanished the moment he was dragged before their Las Vegas House head and one of Wesker's most loyal bought-out Fighters. Rhino never dealt in subtleties just in traditional punishments.

His nose was dripping blood where he sucked. It left a metallic taste over everything.

The weird thing was that he was still thinking. His brain was tick tick ticking away like it knew that it had to do some quality thinking to make up for the fact that it wasn't going to be doing anything after he got a bullet put through his skull.

The metallic taste wasn't copper -- that was a falsehood, or at least Grissom had told him that. People thought of copper because it tasted something like the smell of copper, or pennies. And pennies had a pretty low actual copper level in them, at least nowadays, and people had always been more likely to put pennies in their mouths than rusty iron nails or debit cards, although just then, Greg kinda wanted to have a debit card in his mouth rather than Rhino's pretty unrhino like cock. 

It was better than the beating; they were professional at that. Maximum pain without sending the victim into unconsciousness. The body was a fickle thing. A simple knock to the head could kill.

God he hoped Nick was okay. He should have just given himself up immediately. Why had he waited for Nick to try and protest? He could have been shot because he hadn't really believed that House Wesker were as bad as all that.

A concussion was a hell of a way to say 'I told you so'.

Except maybe, maybe from now on they'd at least... well, not listen to him. He was going to be dead, and if he were lucky he'd make it to a morgue, but Greg didn't really see that one coming. But maybe they'd listen more, instead of thinking that all Houses were good Houses, really, which was pretty stupid given their line of work.

Optimism was pretty blinding, and he'd been hearing 'it's going to be okay' or whatever way too many times in the past few days. Griss had started that, actually.

"Fuck, yeah. Gunna be a shame to lose this mouth."

It would have been nice to say goodbye to Griss. To say thanks; he'd been able to do that with Nick even if it had been a rather pathetic attempt as he had been dragged away and Nick had been dazed. And Catherine, Warrick and even Sara. He was even going to miss Sara because even if he irritated her, she still was nice to him on occasions. Had been.

Hell, he'd even miss snarking at Hodges.

At least the Rhino rarely fucked his ass himself. That was usually one of the others, or sometimes he'd use an object.

He hoped Grissom was having a good vacation.

He really hoped Grissom was having a good vacation. Because he sure as hell wasn't, and Greg could just imagine Grissom gathering everyone into his office to ask what the hell happened to his DNA tech. That was... pretty likely, because even if he was a trainee, a nothing on the power ladder in field work, Gil seemed less annoyed and more amused by him. He'd probably actually throw that kind of fit at the rest of the team.

Which none of them would deserve. Nick had tried hard.

A few more rough thrusts against his face, Rhino's skin pressing over Greg's nose, his balls faintly slapping Greg's chin, and he came so deep in Greg's throat with his long, thin dick that Greg couldn't even taste the come.

He swallowed, wanting to move but still held there by the large hands at the back of his neck. He hurt. He wondered if he had the courage just to bite down hard. Still if they did find him they would be able to ID for the DNA in his stomach. That was a cheering thought.

Kinda. Except Rhino would end up Death-Marked, maybe, and then Wesker himself would probably gun him down.

Well, Wesker, the thing at the end of his arm. Whatever.

"Oh, yeah. Jesus, that's good. Fuck." Hands moved to the sides of his head, and Rhino pulled back slowly. "Clean me off, huh? I don't want none of your blood on me."

It was easy enough to oblige. Strange how this sort of thing became normal after a while. Griss would give lectures about people staying in relationships that were harmful and abusive as if it was easy just to walk away. Kinda hard to walk away when they came running after you with machine guns.

Run like hell would have been a better motto. Run and dive for cover and go along with it, because it was a hell of a lot easier to be compliant than it was to be brave and fight it. Griss wouldn't understand that, not really, even with House War experience, wouldn't get that it was a lot easier to lick a dick clean than to get his head slapped around or get his ears boxed. Strictly in the eyes of Imperial Law he was House property and the House could do what they liked with him no matter Imperial edicts and bond-slave protection rights.

"Nice. Think if you do it well enough, you might live? Ain't no way that's gunna happen."

No, but maybe it might buy him a little extra life, or an easier exit. He wished he'd gotten to speak to Poppa Olaf again. It would have killed him to see him like this, to know the worst of it but... maybe he would be happy it was over for him. Poppa Olaf wouldn't want Greg to be in a situation like that. Hopefully someone would tell him, so he wouldn't think Greg was just being a bad grandson. 

"Yeah, yeah, that's enough of that shit. You're not a goddamned cat." A glancing smack to his head, openhanded for the most sting and the least force.

It was enough to knock him off balance and have him sprawl for a moment looking up at the immense bulk of the man. The House talk said when he had been a bond-slave fighter, he'd never lost. Not even one match. All of that bulk was muscle and he liked to exercise it.

He tried to unsteadily get back into a kneeling position. He knew the drill. They all knew it. Out there in the dorms his Housemates were probably huddled together thanking all the gods that it wasn't them like he had done on the nights it wasn't him. He knew that at the end, they would make sure they saw what they had done to him. And that it would be bad enough to seal their words into silence with fear.

Rhino didn't kick him while he was down, or try to drag or help him up. He just watched Greg like Greg was beneath him, contemptible, and zipped his dick back behind his pants. Greg hoped he got some pubic hair caught in the teeth.

"You look good like this, kid. Naked, bruised, bleeding, hair all fucked up for a reason. I bet you're thinking of dream rescues and escape scenes, when all you're gunna be is a dead bitch in the dirt."

"Yeah, I know that..." Greg managed. Hey, silence wasn't working. Might as well poke at a touchy point. "Turns you on, doesn't it, seeing guys like this?"

Maybe it would be quicker this way. Did he want that or did he want it drawn out? Who the fuck cared, the end result would be the same.

Rhino shifted, and then kicked Greg sharply in the shin. Once, and then twice, and then a third time, grunting before he took a kick at Greg's stomach. "That's the last time you say that. I think I ain't gonna give you a quick death. I think I'll just keep kicking you until you die." 

Another kick, to his thigh this time. Building up from least-threatening to his life to most, like always.

He knew how to curl and deflect some of the impact of the kicks -- that was a necessary survival skill. "F-fuck you..." he managed in a wheezy gasp.

He congratulated himself of his small moment of defiance. Nick and the others would have been proud of him.

For all the good it did him. "What'd you say? What'd you say, shit? You little shit!" There was a clank, and for a moment, Rhino's shadow wasn't looming over him. Just for a moment, and then he heard the sound of metal cutting through the air, faint whiz, before it impacted with his bared back.

Okay there was a reason he didn't do the manly macho bravado thing. It was because he screamed like a spectacular wuss at the consequences.

The impact was like fire and being hit by a car and he found himself trying desperately to crawl away.

Except there was another burning strike against his back, and another and another until his fingernails scrabbled at the floor pretty uselessly. Rhino was going to crush his spine like that, sharp slashing strikes against his skin until he could smell blood.

His screams were pretty pathetic things by now, even to the bizarrely detached portion of his mind that was trying to pretend everything that happened wasn't him.

Everything hurt, everything seemed ready to snap or give up. If he hit the right vertebra, he wouldn't feel a thing. Right now, each stroke hurt like agony dipped in acid.

"Yeah, life's not like the movies." Another strike, over the side of his arm. Rhino was getting sloppy and he'd probably just cave Greg's face in soon with his thin metal bar. "And your buddies in House Braun ain't ever gunna find your body."

There was a click of the door, and then light spilled into the room from the side it shouldn't, hadn't been coming from. "Hey, and sometimes the Calvary arrives -- drop that stick or I blow your head off."

Greg had no idea why Brass was there, and not the attention capability to care because right then unconsciousness beckoned with an unavoidable siren song.

Very, very carefully, and missing all the excitement and the aftermath of tense fraught crisis, he lay his head down on the cold floor and closed his eyes.

If he was really lucky, it wouldn't have been a dream.

* * *

Usually if Greg woke up after one of those nights, he was lucky if one of his dorm mates had bundled him on his bed before they had to work themselves. That was the problem with shift work -- most of House Wesker didn't follow his shift pattern. Sometimes he'd wake up and found one of his closer companions having cleaned him up and maybe even in the bed with him which was sometimes a good thing, and sometimes very bad.

Either way, when he opened an eye this time he was conscious firstly that he hurt like hell, then that he could feel soft covers on him.

There was no one in there with him, which was a great feeling. The mattress was pretty soft, and he could see, sideways and with his one cracked-open eye, the edge of some kind of desk, and an abandoned chair, and past that, a pant-leg.

"Hey, man, thanks for the coffee. You remembered the sugar?"

"Yeah, yeah. He moved any since you've been here?"

"Nah. Still out cold."

Okay, that was Warrick, and that was Nick. He decided just to lie a little longer, to place what sort of situation he was in before doing anything rash like moving. He just couldn't conceive of a situation where he was around Warrick and Nick and flat out on a bed. 

Well, he could but those situations were a testament to his libido rather than reality. It all went back to plastic paint drop cloths and both of them stripped down to next to nothing painting Nick's apartment. The fact that he could think like a pervert just then… probably meant that he was going to live, even if he didn't want to move.

"Doc Robbins said he'd be up soon. Hey, if you want to trade off, Sara's muttering about Imperial law with Brass in the living room."

"Are you kidding me? Go near Sara mid-rant?" Warrick chuckled and the aroma of coffee drifted closer. "Where's Catherine?"

"On the phone with Atwater's Personal about last night. They're bringing them in, you know? And she called Braun to tell him that Greg's, uh... well, he's here." Here. That made Greg want to laugh a little, because 'here' was apparently someplace big enough to house a good chunk of the department. But not the lab, because he personally would've already known if there were beds there that weren't slabs.

"Well, they were caught breaking Challenge Amnesty," Warrick said slowly. "That's... denying bond-slaves the right to request Challenge and, man that's serious shit." There was silence a long moment. "It didn't even occur to me that anything like this could happen. Not to one of us, y'know? I mean..."

"He kept telling me they'd try something." Nick sounded quiet, and Greg could half-hear him take a sip of his own coffee. "And he was right. If they'd killed him and… I don't know. They're in deep shit now, and Greg'll be better off in our House."

He had to agree with that. Greg dragged the vague memories to the surface of how he came to be where he was and how and felt it was too extreme a method to prove that yes, he did know what he was talking about. Really. People should trust him more, he decided and then had a pang of guilt as he realized he was lying there pretending to be unconscious.

Nick sounded... kinda upset about it. He didn't want Nick to be like that. He experimentally twitched a little. It was only a little, and no one noticed. He'd probably been twitching and groaning, and that was a far cry from actively awake. 

"So, Robbins got his medical files?" Warrick shifted, and the chair scraped for a moment so he could sit down again and talk to Nick. 

"Yeah, what there is of them. He's requisitioned some more supplies, and Braun's going for it because he doesn't want House Wesker to try crashing a hospital." 

"Man..." Warrick seemed to be contemplating that fact. "So did you get Robbins to look at that lump on your head before you and Catherine started creating a fuss at the Imperial Courthouse? You do realize if you grew your hair longer, that brain of yours might've been better protected."

Catherine and Nick had been creating a fuss over him at the courthouse? Wow. Greg twitched a toe, just in case the disaster area of his back had managed to damage nerves.

It moved, and he felt it move, which was the best part. Maybe a little more inadvertent eavesdropping was still in order, now that apparently his legs were attached to the rest of him. "Yeah, well the guy's fist would've just bounced right off of your hair." Nick stepped up behind Warrick and Greg really wanted to tip his head to watch.

"Very funny, Stokes," Warrick mock growled. "You sure you're okay? No blurred vision? Feeling sick?"

Greg was sensing a vibe, even though Nick had indicated otherwise… how long ago?

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. No dilated eyes, none of that. You think Catherine would've let me run around the courts with her if I'd been concussed?'

"Maybe she couldn't tell if you had a dazed expression," Warrick sounded like he was grinning. "It is pretty hard sometimes..."

Nick snorted. "Don't make me drag you out there, Warrick. I'll throw you to the legalese, man." 

Fate worse than death, Greg decided. Although from his own close brush he was in a position to judge that pretty finely. So. Most body parts were checking in. He'd learned it was the bits that didn't hurt to start off with that kicked his ass later on in the proceedings. So...

He made a waking up sort of noise, or on reflection it was a whimper, and then turned his head and opened his eyes properly, before promptly squinting again.

Nick was standing behind Warrick, though, and then were both kinda facing the bed. "Hey... Greg?" Nick put his coffee cup on the desk, and leaned past Warrick a little.

"Sanders? Hey..."

"Hey, Nick." He was proud of himself for that. It could have been the sort of 'Hey, Nick' he said casually walking into the break room. "And… 'rick too. This isn't the lab, is it?"

Stupid question, but that's all he was up to. And whose clothes was he wearing?

"Nah. We're at Doc Robbins's place, since... he had the most room, and we're pretty close to the Rampart. It's, uh..." He checked his watch. "About four in the afternoon. I'm thinking that we can roll you up in a sleeping bag and carry you into the fight."

"Well yey." Greg slumped back. He'd forgotten about the fight, and he had to be there or it wasn't legal. "I'd offer to walk but... I don't think my legs are awake, yet." He desperately wanted to ask for painkillers, but he didn't want to appear a complete wuss in front of them both. Nick who worked out, Warrick who had muscle all over the damn place.

Who the hell was he kidding? He was a wuss and proud of the fact. He wanted the damn drugs.

"Nick, I, uh..." He didn't want to sound like he was whining. But he was whining in not so many words. His back was burning and throbbing and not in a good way, and everything felt tight and painful.

"Yeah, Greg?"

Warrick elbowed Nick gently. "Hey, Greg. I'll leave you with Texas moon-eyes here in a minute. But do you want something? Since you're back in the land of the living."

"I want drugs. Anything you've got..." Greg blurted out. "I'm... proud of my lack of being stoic. I don't care. Even my hair hurts."

From the look on both of their faces, it probably wasn't what either of them had been expecting. Warrick leaned back a little, and then started to stand up. "I'll get Doc Robbins."

"Thanks, man," Greg winced. And now he felt like crap for disappointing them somehow. He watched Warrick go and instinctively inched a hand out towards Nick.

Nick scooted forwards a little once the chair had been vacated, and he did kind of tentatively take Greg's hand. "Hey. We weren't really sure how you'd be."

"Well, I would have thought in pain would have been a pretty safe bet," Greg replied fighting to get in control of himself. He did this sort of thing most days; he could do it now even if it was on a grander scale. Nick's hand was nice and warm. "You okay? I saw the bastard hit you."

It was kinda easy to concentrate on the fact that Nick had nice warm hands. "Yeah, I'm fine. I figured if I gave chase they might shoot you, so I called Catherine and Warrick when I came to and...." 

"You came after me," Greg smiled a little, finding that painful but unable to stop. "I get you concussed and you come after me." He made an effort to actually look at Nick's eyes. It was good to know that, even if the fight was still likely to be won by Wesker.

"... yeah? Because you're my friend," Nick told him, like it was really just that simple and like things really worked that way.

Greg chuckled a little and immediately regretted it, clutching wildly at Nick. "Ow... Ow... Ow shit, ow." He screwed up his eyes a moment and then relaxed. "Did... were you there?"

"At the House? Yeah. You missed Jim being a cheese ball, and that Rhino guy put up a hell of a fight. Never, Greg, piss off Imperial guards." Nick grinned at him. "Rhino should've known that."

Great so, he been seen pretty much by everyone naked and curled up in a heap. That was good for the self esteem. "You're telling me that... Brass took down... Rhino?"

"Brass and another Imperial. Vega." Nick dropped his eyes a little, looking at Greg's hand. "So. Uh, it's been a pretty busy day."

"I found it pretty busy myself," Greg murmured. "Nicky, I... you know I'm not really thinking right, but you're giving me a bit of weird vibe here. Have I... uh... I've done something? It's cool, I can understand how you'll probably see me differently after all that. I didn't exactly cover myself with glory, and yeah, uh... whose clothes am I wearing?"

He was just babbling now and his jaw ached. He wasn't someone to react to things particularly silently.

"Mine, actually. Once we got you here, I doubled back to my place to tell the Supe about the door, and get some clothes for you to wear." Nick opened his mouth, and then closed it, still looking down. "I, uh... You were right, man, and I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Nick, it's cool. I mean you guys live in this type of world. I didn't really realize that where I was, wasn't just a scuzzy version of what you guys had, but a whole different thing." Greg replied. "And... I know you guys think I'm way out there, so… yeah, it's okay. I get it. I had a hard job believing where you lived and how you lived was real. There was no reason why you should be different."

"Yeah, well. Usually that kind of House is just... I don't know, something we deal with on cases. If Grissom could've seen all of us, he'd probably be knocking heads and telling us that if you can't understand a victim, you can't... really help." Nick glanced up at Greg, eyes looking red-rimmed. "Well, I want to help. We... all do."

"Nick." Now he felt really bad. "It's… It's not so bad, okay?"

He was a really bad liar. Really bad, but Nick looked like he might have been crying and so what if that was an assumption? "You have been helping. It's been great working with you and… hanging out. I'm sorry I kept eating your sandwiches."

Nick laughed, a harsh noise as he shook his head again like Greg was unbelievable. "They didn't even really feed you. I knew... knew they had to be treating you bad, but none of us thought to ask for you to get Challenged for. I'm sorry. And none of us really thought that your House would be so insane that they'd hurt you like this."

"Well, y'know, it was kinda normal. Well, this wasn't normal because, um..." Greg looked at him. "I freaked you out, I know I did. And they fed me a minimum. I felt pretty shitty about not paying my way and stuff but, they hold all our salary and... It's a dependence thing. I'm not making much sense am I?"

The look on Nick's face said it all, and he tipped his head a little. "No, but you've got time, Greg. Okay? They won't get you back. So just... rest, and I'll see if Warrick or Robbins has some pain pills. We'll carry you to the fight if we have to."

"I appreciate it, man, I really do." Even if he believed it was only a short stay of execution. Maybe he should seize the moment. Or the porn. Carpe Pornum as Grissom might say.

"Nick...?"

Just a kiss. A kiss with someone who wasn't trying to kill him or use him. That would be wonderful.

"Yeah?" Nick looked like he'd do anything just then. Anything at all.

Greg smiled a little and beckoned him down. "Please...? I want to... y'know? Kiss you."

"That's..." There was a grin, and then Nick started to lean down to Greg. "Yeah. That's easy. Just... relax and rest and get better. And..."

He didn't move his fingers from Greg's hand, and just leaned down to kiss him.

It was a Real Kiss. He considered trade marking it because it was soft, and sweet and hot, hot enough to burn away some of the aching pain and make him feel grateful he got to kiss like that at least once in his lifetime.

It was probably only once in a lifetime, because it was really improbable for him to think that he'd really be won by House Braun. Except... he'd also never expected to be rescued, but there he was, safe. Safe, with Nick leaning over him, lips lingering against Greg's mouth even when he pulled back slightly.

Warrick cleared his throat from somewhere near the door. Greg wasn't exactly in a seeing kind of position just then. He just smiled up at Nick.

"Doc Robbins is on his way," he said dryly.

"What? He wants a kiss, too?" Greg replied and nearly had an attack of hysterical giggles.

He could see Nick grinning when he laughed and Nick sat back slowly. "Cool. You'll probably want food when you come to, so we'll have something waiting. You want burgers, steak, what?"

"Anything," Greg replied. "Anything at all." He had to be grateful that Rhino had wanted his mouth working so had concentrated on body blows more than hitting him around the head and face. Eating wouldn't hurt so much. 

Nick was still looking back at Greg with a soft, almost goofy expression before he started to stand.

"We'll dig up something good for you, Greg." Warrick took a step backwards, and almost toppled Al, barely catching his arm before he fell. "Sorry there."

"That's okay. I would've just hit you with my brace until one of you helped me up. These telescope, you know." 

"Hey, Doc," Greg managed from the bed. "Uh, thanks for the loan of the bed and all." As long as he kept talking he didn't have to think about how much it hurt. Which explained why he talked so much.

"You're welcome, Greg. It's certainly better than rolling you into one of the drawers back at the morgue. I'd ask how you're feeling, but the answer should be pretty obvious. Does anything in specific feel more painful than the rest of what was done?"

"My back," Greg gave a little shrug. "It's having its own kinda pain party back there and the party's heating up."

"I figured it would. The bruising is deep, and those muscles are going to stiffen up. He broke skin a few times, but you're bandaged to prevent infection. I'm going to leave you with some pills, like I did with your leg -- same dose. Anything else?" Al was leaning on his brace as he talked, reaching into his pocket with his free hand.

"It's pretty much everything, Doc. I uh..." He looked to see if Nick was still in earshot. "Can I have a private word with you?"

"Sure." He turned pretty damn fast for a guy with only half of either leg, and waved both Nick and Warrick further towards the door. "Go on. Catherine wanted to talk to you two."

Nick gave a wave, and Warrick flashed a smile. "Yeah, we'll see about getting some food, too."

Greg waited for them to be out of earshot and then let a little of the effort of staying apparently unaffected drop away. "Doc... I... uh. The Fight. I need to ask you a favor. Wh- If they win me back... I..."

He didn't want to live through worse. He looked up at Doc Robbins, and was embarrassed to feel his eyes sting a little. "Have you got anything so I don't... you know, have to go through it."

Al was quiet for a moment, and looked down to his shoes. Greg couldn't quite be sure what he was thinking, not when it was quiet except for a faint metallic shifting noise, and then Robbins lifted his head. "I don't think that it's going to come to it. But if... and this is a big 'if', that I'm not going to leap to, that happens, I'll take care of it. You won't be going back there, either way."

Greg nodded. "Thanks, Doc." He tried a half smile. "I can't keep this sort of thing up forever y'know? Pretending not to be scared and that it's okay." His hands were shaking just a little as he tried to keep the smile intact. "I'm... pretty tired of everything."

"I know how it goes, Greg. From one veteran of House Wars to another from a House at war with itself, sometimes the status quo is unbearable. Just... don't jump the gun. The fighter tonight was from House Wesker." Al sat down heavily in the chair, and he had the pill bottle in his hand, fiddling with the cap for a moment.

"Yeah?" That made him a little more hopeful. "Doc, the fighters they have in there now are... brutal. They win at any cost. I'm not really expecting House Braun to win, y'know? But I can't tell Nick that, or the others."

Greg dropped his eyes a little to watch Robbins shake out two pills from the bottle. "I wouldn't call them sheltered, but it's very tempting. Some people willfully expect the very best of society. Here, take these."

He hoped they were good. He took them and then knocked them back with the practiced motion of someone used to swallowing painkillers dry, even if it hurt his head jerking his head that way. "If it goes that way, will you tell them that I really appreciated what they did? That you all tried? Like, all of this..." He gestured randomly including everything. There weren't words in his head to explain how he felt, what all of them meant to him. Even if it was just a glimpse of another life it had been something.

"If it comes to that," Al reiterated. "Do you really think Sam Braun is going to let himself lose face by losing to a lesser house that can't even follow the rules? At this point it has a great deal less to do with winning you, and more to do with his reputation if he doesn't win."

Al shifted, using his brace to stand again, while he set the bottle on the far end of the desk. "I'd say that tips the odds in your favor."

"I've never had odds to have in my favor before," Greg admitted with another half smile. Everyone seemed to be so sure things would work out and he wanted them too, he really did, but it was like the big dreams that everyone had that they spend time dreaming about and never actually fulfilling. Playing the Payoff lottery, wishing on a star, gambling in Vegas...

The evidence showed the House always won.

"Sometimes it happens. You should sleep, Greg. I'm sure Warrick and Nick will be back with food for you in a couple of hours."

As he couldn't exactly walk, he couldn't do much more than sleep, so he nodded again. "Thanks, Doc. Really."

"Have a good night." Al turned away, and then he left the room with his careful pace, leaving Greg alone in an empty room. An empty, safe room.

He had been proven right once, and wrong once this particular night. Now, he just didn't have the energy to care. As long Robbins did what he said he would do so if he did go back to House Wesker, he wouldn't have to endure an extended execution, the outcome could be classed as good. It was pretty sad, he guessed that he could think that thought without any hint of melodrama or angst. It was just a fact, and a plan to work on.

He closed his eyes and decided instead to concentrate on the memory of Nick's kiss.

With that in his mind, and the memories of all the other times he'd flirted with Nick at work, it was easy for Greg to fall asleep once the drugs kicked in.

* * *

Catherine was on the verge of kicking off her damn heels and running barefoot out of the Imperial Courthouse. She risked a glance at her watch and grimaced. The Fight would just be starting and these things could go on for only minutes or hours depending. The Fight arena wasn't far away, but if she went in the public access it would take her a good thirty minutes to push through crowds and longer to argue with the Imperial staff and....

There was a whole legal mess if the fight ended over prior to her getting there. This was an award of Forfeit on the basis of Contract infraction, and Challenge Amnesty infraction. She held Greg Sanders's life in her hand in a sheaf of official papers.

She hastily speed dialed Brass, willing him to pick up even as she half jogged to her car.

He was there, she knew he was there in case House Wesker tried anything else that seemed smart, given the circumstances. If she could get to the fight before it was over or called, then...

~"Brass."~

"Jim, it's Catherine..." The noise on the other side of the line was terrible. "I've got a Forfeit notice, but I got to get in. Can you get me in by one of the staff entrances? Don't tell me it's over already?"

"It's not. Are you on your way? What side entrance...? Hey, fuck, watch your goddamned hands!"

She grimaced. "On the west side of the arena, I can see if from here. I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Catherine said yanking her way into her car and just ignoring anything remotely resembling road markings to floor it over there. "How's Greg doing?"

"Kid's all freaked out, but he seems to be doing okay with Warrick and Nick. Robbins gave him something for pain before he -- hey, don't MAKE me shoot you!"

"You tell 'em, Jim," Catherine murmured under her breath and then swore as she had to violently swerve around a drunk. "I... need you to get me to the Imperial Judge presiding over their Fight. If it makes a win before then, it's a whole other legal mess!"

She drove over the grass, ignoring the traffic calming measures.

"Out of my way, out of my damned way -- yeah, I can get you to her. You close yet?"

She was parked in a flower bed, and suspected that was as close as she was going to get, official vehicle or not. "Running up the path." There was another surge in the roar of the crowd. "Tell me that wasn't a Win!"

Jim was quiet for a second, and then, "Bad right hook. Braun's guy. It's a draw if both Fighters die from blood loss on the mats, right?"

"Oh shit Jim, open the damn door! Get me in there!" Catherine demanded. She'd spent most of the previous night and most of the day in the Imperial Courthouse and she would be damned if she was going to lose it now because she couldn't get to the judge.

When she ran up to the side door on the west side, she could see it start to open, Jim leaning out of it with the phone still up to his head. "C'mon."

She put her phone away and then half-ran half-strode after Brass, not daring to look at the arena, or the massive screens. It had to be a bloody fight for the crowd to be so whipped up into a frenzy. They ran up some stairs, and she let Brass run interference with the Imperial Guard at the Judge's booth.

"Hey, we need to get to the judge -- we've got an order from the court, breach of contract against Wesker!" The guard at the entrance to the booth seemed to take Jim for his word on that, and stepped aside, pushing open the door. 

It helped that Jim had gotten his badge out as they'd run. 

The Judge looked around startled as they burst in. "What is the... Imperial Guard Brass, what are you doing here? I'm in the middle of Adjudication!"

It was a lot like working a scene with Brass. He always put himself between whoever and the Investigator, called the shots, and then let them do their jobs. "Court order awarding a forfeit."

"Here," Catherine reached forward. "The Imperial Court found against House Wesker for long term contract infractions on the possession, one Greg Sanders, in his employ for House Braun through chronic damage and debilitation that has had a demonstrable effect on his ability to fulfill his duties. Also on the terms of flagrant breaking of lawful Challenge Amnesty on the same possession, Greg Sanders as witnessed by Imperial Guard Brass."

Brass lifted his chin slightly, as if to add a 'yes' or a 'that's me'. The Judge eyed Catherine over the top of her glasses, and took the paper, scanning it as another cheer went up from the crowd. 

"Everything is in order." She leaned towards the woman's microphone, and pressed it on. "Forfeit called to the favor of House Braun. Wesker Forfeits by contractual breaks, repeat, Wesker Forfeits."

"Investigator... Willows," the Judge looked up at her, reading the badge she had been sporting all night and day. "I believe you are stepping over the mark, but I will let the announcement stand. I shall send a letter of complaint to your House about their property's behavior."

That was fine. Catherine managed a tight smile as she straightened up, and Brass glanced out over the crowd. A lot of people were turned around to look at the booth, and both fighters had retreated to their corners. 

"Anything else I can do for you, Judge?" Jim pressed.

"As you appear to be so... involved, I suggest that you get the task of delivering the property in question to its new owners." Fight Judges were notoriously aware of bond-slaves being property. "I will authorize an Imperial Guard section to investigate the legal problems. They've broken Imperial Law and there has to be justice and I do not want an illegal House War going on as a result of one of my fights."

"Yes, ma'am. Investigator Willows, get back to your Housemates and we'll see about the property." That almost stung -- Freeman or not, Brass spent most of his time with House Braun and contractors of the house.

"Yes, sir," Catherine said, only just about hiding the smirk on her face as she turned away. She had a near twisted ankle and she could use about a day of sleep, but they had done it. Grissom might even be proud of her, in Grissom's own inimitable way.

She wasn't sure what he'd do if, after a week as Judge Millander's Personal, he came back to find out that Greg had gone back to House Wesker.

Jim took her elbow gently, because it was easier for him to get her through the crowd that way. "We'll get Sanders to the Rampart, and they can start processing him through the system."

"If he's even conscious," Catherine replied exhaling with relief. "Where are they all?" She looked for Warrick's tall form, and Nick's muscular appearance.

"Down beside the ring." Jim was using his left shoulder to push people who were standing up apart, breaking through the people who were already leaving in disappointment, "Stick with me, Cath."

There was something very solid about Jim, something unstoppable and Catherine was pleased to be with him, grinning slightly insanely. Never mind that most of them had to be in work in an hour or so. Right now she felt really buzzed with the excitement despite it, the atmosphere around them.

She was going to be dead on her feet through the whole shift, but it was going to be worth it for the look she could see on Greg's face as they pushed their way down the staircase and through more Guards. It was probably best for Jim to take backup with him when he transported Greg to the Rampart.

He was rather surprisingly conscious, though he looked like that was going to be optional in the near future. He looked like he discovered all the fairy tales with happy ending were actually real. She didn't even want to know how close it had been to the end. Both the fighters were being taken at speed by House medics for treatment and there was a lot of blood in their arena for the cleanup crew to deal with.

Jim pulled Warrick and Sara aside once they arrived down on the floor, leaving Catherine free to get towards Al and Nicky and Greg, catching the tail end of something Nick was saying.

"--ee? Man, you're home free, now! You made it!"

Made it, like it had been a rush for his life, and... that was exactly what Catherine had made. And Greg had no idea. She liked the thought of that, letting him just enjoy his freedom. "Looks like someone's getting House Braun cuffs tonight."

"It's got to be the drugs..." Greg replied in dazed fashion. "There's no way this is real." He looked up at Catherine and blinked and said as if he wasn't really in control of what he was saying, "Of course if it was a dream then, Catherine would probably be naked..."

She smirked, and if he hadn't looked like he was going to tip over, she would've taken a swipe at his shoulder. "Keep dreaming," Catherine smirked. "We're taking you to the Rampart so you can get settled in. I'm sorry that you can't rest quite yet."

"The... the Rampart?" Greg was holding on to Nick's shoulder but obviously gripping something still in on of his hands. "I still don't get the forfeit."

"We proved in court that they grossly broke the terms of their contract with House Braun, and that they violated your Amnesty rights, so... forfeited their right to fight the challenge."

"Good going, Catherine," Warrick said with a nod. "I've never seen an Imperial order move so fast. You must have scared the hell out of some of the Clerks."

"Hey, uh, how about we wrap up this party and everyone can celebrate later, huh?" Jim leaned in, clapping Catherine and Warrick's shoulders. "Let's get the kid to my cruiser."

Greg looked at them all for a moment and then looked down suddenly "You know... much as I would like a dramatic walk to a new life, my legs just ain't going to cooperate. And my dignity is pretty shot anyway so um, could some of you help me out?"

Warrick moved to get on his other side. "C'mon, just admit it. You like having two big guys carry you around, Sanders. Nick, you got his other side?"

"I got it."

"Well yeah there is that," Greg admitted shifting his arms. "Don't let me make you late for shift or anything. Grissom will kick all our asses for that and mine twice over for encouraging it."

Catherine checked her watch for show, then shook her head. "No, we've got another hour. And I think that in this case, Grissom could forgive us for starting the day a little later."

Nick nodded, and glanced over to Warrick. "Count of three?" He got a nod, and turned in a little, getting an arm under one of Greg's legs. "One, two... three."

Greg still made noises of pain, even though he tried to laugh it off as they moved him unsteadily to Brass's cruiser.

Catherine kept looking at him, seeing clearly the sort of glassy look in his eyes that meant it hadn't sunk in at all. That whatever he was saying and doing was running on autopilot and bore no relation to how he actually felt. The only time his eyes were bright and clear he looked like he was blinking back tears, and covering it up with some wisecrack.

Perhaps they weren't so different from each other after all.

Fingers tugged at her shoulder, pulling her back from watching Brass clear the way for Warrick and Nick to leave. "Catherine? My pager went off. We've got a 419 in Henderson."

"No rest for the wicked," Catherine murmured. She wanted to see him settled in, to welcome him in to the House Braun family as she had spent the time actually accomplishing things, rather than being there. Perhaps that was what happened to Grissom -- he was off doing, while everyone else was being together. It was a thought worth remembering. "C'mon, Sara, we'll take the DB and let the boys take the next when they drop off Greg. Nick, Warrick... Sara and I are taking a 19. Let me know how you got on."

"Will do. Hey, Nick. Wanna bet we have to hold him up while the jeweler measures him for cuffs?"

"Probably." Nick looked so happy, and then their voices faded out. She still had to get back to the west entrance to get her car out of the flower bed. 

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Gil was almost surprised that the situation was still impossibly relaxed between himself and Paul. It was the fourth night of Gil's seven days and seven nights, which meant that he was starting to look forwards, just a little, to getting his bearings again.

It had to be possible, even if it didn't seem like it was to Gil just then. Somewhere along the line he'd hit a stride of comfort. Paul had talked more, and sketched him again, and checked that the bite and the cuts in his shoulder weren't turning infected. And if that was how the next three days and nights passed, Gil was… comfortable with that, with sitting at Paul's feet, leaning back against the sofa, Paul's lean legs stretching on either side of Gil while he channel surfed. There were fingers massaging through his hair, touching his neck, his shoulders, and then back to his scalp again, soothing away tension from the suspended pose that Paul had put Gil in for a couple of hours that afternoon.

Gil couldn't even bring himself to mind that his hands were bound in front of him. It seemed safer for him that he was restrained when Paul touched him.

It seemed to give the other man a measure of comfort and equilibrium. Certainly he seemed to be more emotionally open the more restrained Gil actually was which had a strange sort of logic. He was beginning to learn the differences between the need for dominance and the need for control. Paul was the latter.

"After the break on Las Vegas Live, we will have live coverage of the most recent Fights. Featuring... a House Braun Challenge to House Wesker!" The TV snatched at their attention with overly enthralled and excited tones.

Gil took in a faint breath, and tried to mentally will Paul not to turn the channel. It was the best he could do, because it really wouldn't be wise to ask outright to watch that fight no matter how much he wanted to find out what the outcome was. That was Greg's life on the line, as mass entertainment in the form of a Challenge. 

The fingers toyed in his hair a moment. "Do you ever watch the Fights, Gil?" Paul asked softly.

"Sometimes." Because no matter how much he preferred quiet and civility... There was just something about the Fights, or maybe it was the history of the events. "It's better than the news."

"Society in action," Paul replied leaving the channel on. "Primal human urges framed by society sanctioned ritual and made civilized. There's something about the Fights that talks to the basic level. House Wesker fighters are known by the Judges circle for their... notorious brutality."

"No matter what houses compete, it comes down to two skulls and four fists, no padding." Gil leaned the side of his head on Paul's thigh, eyes trained on the TV set. Paul's pants smelled faintly like fabric softener, and Gil knew for a fact that Paul did his own laundry and the rest of his house-cleaning when the time presented itself to him.

"Challenges in the Great Houses sometimes involve weapons. There has to be dispensation for that. You can get dispensation for it in other matters, but not for a matter of property, generally matters of honor." Millander watched as the pacy music cut into the live feed.

"Once again Las Vegas Arena One plays host to an epic clash between two of the preeminent Houses in Las Vegas!" the announcer enthused. "There is a large crowd for this one and the odds are evenly matched. The property in Challenge is one Gregor Sanders of House Wesker, contracted to the Imperial Investigations Unit through House Braun..."

Gil went carefully still again, because there was a camera pan to the property, to Greg, sitting down at the front, boxed in between Nick and Warrick like they were the only things holding Greg up. They probably were, because he looked pale and glazed over. Didn't even notice the camera was on him, because his head bobbled a little and he leaned it onto Nick's shoulder.

He looked like he'd been hurt before they even got to the point of the challenge.

"Mmm. One of your staff I believe?" Paul asked with a slight hint in his voice that made it doubtful that what they were doing was accidental.

"They're all my staff. Nick, and Warrick, with Greg between them." House Braun had to win. They just, they just had to win. The camera didn't linger for long, and soon it was showing and giving quick biographies on the two fighters. "House Wesker is brutal in more than just their fights."

"The favor for a Challenge?" Paul asked even as the build up began in earnest, with the fighters being checked for concealed weapons and the commentators seizing on the fact of House Braun's fighter being ex-Wesker, but then downplaying his chances because he had less mass.

Less mass. He still looked better trained than the other one, and Gil started to try to work out the muscle mass ratio that the guy had to have. Except Paul's fingers stopped a little, and his question registered in Gil's head. He wasn't sure what reaction the truth would bring, but...

"Yes."

"I see." The fingers resumed stroking. "You're involved with him?"

"No." That came with less hesitance, an easier truth to give because Gil knew his voice sounded like he wanted to laugh. Like Paul had just suggested the most impossible thing.

Because that was exactly what he'd done.

"You're a mystery, Gil, a mystery and an enigma and yet you've never once lied to me," Paul replied. "Perhaps that's something for the future?"

"Lying?" Gil shook his head a little. On the screen, the Fighter's handlers were giving last minute strategy tips that Gil guessed amounted to 'hit him harder than he hits you'. "Too much effort. I watch people do it every day and they always tangle themselves up in it."

"No. I meant being involved with your hard bought Challenge," Paul replied, stroking down his hair again.

"Just as unlikely." Paul's fingers trailed to the nape of his neck, and it felt good. It felt good because if someone did that in his normal life, he'd be almost obligated to shrug them off and walk away. But it wasn't a choice, and Paul needed to control that way. 

"How so?" Paul asked as the Fighters from each House entered the arena and the Fight commenced. They spent some time sizing each other up before the first blows were exchanged.

The first punch brought out a distinct crunch, and Gil noted that the puncher was from his own house. Good. "How so? Uh... I scare him, and he's quite fond of Nick."

"Perhaps if you tried, he might be more receptive," Paul replied. The House Wesker Fighter had retaliated with some lightning blows that seemed formidable. "Of course, it will be all for nothing if your Fighter doesn't win."

"I just... wanted him to have a chance not to end up dead because the people in his House don't know how to treat fellow human beings." Another blow gave another snap, Wesker's fighter breaking Braun's nose. A cheer went up.

"First blood to House Wesker!" the commentator said in an excited tone. "That of course gives an important psychological advantage and in a close match like this, every advantage can be critical..." His voice was drowned out by a roar as the House Braun fighter swept the other man's feet from under him and for a moment, things descended into a wrestling match of sorts.

"A genuine humanitarian," Millander observed.

"Not really. A humanitarian would try to change the system. I just want to make things better for a friend." It was almost hard to keep talking, because the Wesker Fighter got on top of the Braun fighter and started just to pummel him.

Shit.

The crowd was roaring in an ever-increasing frenzy as Braun's fighter hit back, gouging with nails and then ferociously hurled his opponent back. The Fighters were trained to kill. There was no penalty for death in a Challenge; it was deemed a work hazard and Fighters were paid and revered in the House status accordingly.

"Wanting something to change is at the heart of it," Millander considered. "It's evenly matched."

God dammit. Gil couldn't bring himself to reply to that, just shifted faintly, trying to get more comfortable as he watched the Wesker fighter shake it off and then lunge again. He'd hoped it would be an easy fight, and it wasn't. It wasn't, and if House Braun lost... 

If House Braun lost, Gil didn't want to think about what House Wesker would do to Greg in retaliation.

The gratuitous close-ups showed blood everywhere. Teeth were used, nails as well as bone cracking hits. One of them had half an ear torn off, and the other, he swore he saw him spit out a chunk of ..something..

The crowd was at fever pitch as the House Braun fighter slipped on the blood and went down again...

It was over. Gil could see it just from the way that the House Wesker fighter wasn't letting up, could see it in the close-ups and the shots of their faces. It was all... going to have been for nothing, and Greg...

Gil slumped a little as the House Braun fighter struggled to get up.

Then there was the sound of the arena intercom coming on, a brief screech of feedback. "Forfeit called to the favor of House Braun. Wesker Forfeits by contractual breaks, repeat, Wesker Forfeits."

The crowd went wild, and the Imperial guards had to go in and separate the two Fighters who were oblivious to everything except trying to kill each other.

Forfeit? How could there possibly have been Forfeit, or time to prepare a case for Forfeit?

He hadn't been aware that he was holding a breath until he let it out, a careful sound of relief because... a Forfeit was a Forfeit, no matter how it was called, and that meant that Greg was going to be okay.

"Congratulations, Gil. A surprising development, but the right effect I believe." Millander murmured. "Perhaps this deserves champagne?"

"I think it does." This was something he realized to be Paul's version of an order. A suggestion for him to fetch champagne, which Gil was more than willing to take. He shifted, digging his heels against the floor for a moment and using the sofa was leverage because his hands were still bound firmly in front of him. Gil was fairly sure that he could both get the champagne from Paul's kitchen and get the glasses while bound like that, if he had to. Once he was standing, it was easy to maneuver towards the living room door, though Gil stopped short of leaving that fast.

"Paul? Thank you for letting me watch that."

The other man looked at him and smiled a little before he replied. "You're already making it up to me, Gil."

"Am I?"

Millander gave a brief nod. "More than I think you'll ever know. Get the champagne. I have an urge to see what alcohol does to you."

Gil bit his tongue a little as he turned to walk towards the kitchen. He got drunk. And he tended to drink with Jim's Imperial friends, so he tended to get drunk and wake up on Jim's floor with Jim's cat sitting on his chest.

Of course, empirical evidence was always better than an anecdote. Perhaps for once he might actually remember a little about it. He did know you could get drunk very quickly on champagne. And he probably wouldn't be able to celebrate when he got back without revealing what had happened so...

He'd take the champagne when he could find it.

* * *

The fastest way to get drunk was to mix boozes. Beer went well with beer went well with beer, which was what the Imperials liked to drink best. Beer. Champagne did not go well with gin, particularly not the expensive imported gin. Bombay Sapphire, which Gil was pretty sure that it was nearing 100 proof, but it had a nice deep burn.

Gil was never going to be able to pry himself off of the sofa. He was at one with the cushion.

Paul was laughing at him, a quiet deeply amused laugh as he wasn't particularly sober himself as he moved Gil so that he was half lying on the sofa with him. It was a slightly chaotic process but amusing. "Gil Grissom, I believe you're drunk."

"No. I think..." He turned his head a little quickly, and everything spun for a moment. "Woo. I think I'm really drunk. If I were out with Brass, I'd be... under the table. Maybe under the carpet."

"He gets you drunk often does he?" Paul's hands were creeping under the edges of his shirt. "I'm shocked." 

He didn't really sound it. He was more interested in fondling his skin from the practical demonstration of his attention.

Gil still had pants on, but he was only half-sure that they'd stay on for much longer. "No, you're not. You're not shocked. 's... 's normal for Investigators and Imperials to drink after work. And it's fun to see the look on the faces of people who just got up at eight in the morning and see us all sitting in a bar."

"I feel I should be shocked," Paul murmured. "You need to do something to shock me, Gil..." His finger slid down over his stomach, tender over left over bruises from the unfortunate incident of his loss of control.

"Huh." Gil leaned his head back against the back of the sofa watching Paul stroking over him. His wrists were still bound, but Paul had given him a little leeway between then, a little length of chain. "I could ask you to fuck me?"

There was a moment of silence. "Okay, that managed it," Paul said nearly laughing again. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gil rolled the gin glass between his fingers, with the little leeway he had. "Yes?" Did he? After everything else they'd done, why not? He might as well make it have been worth Paul's trouble, because Sam seemed the type to lord the favor quietly over Paul for years. "Yes."

"My God, Gil, you know how to get to me when I don't have the sense to say no," Paul replied "My willpower has been eroded away by the gentle wash of alcohol. Can we even move?"

"I hope that's not rhetorical..." Gil started to sit up, or tried to, but it didn't seem quite possible. "Are you sure that wasn't Everclear in that bottle?"

"I'm beginning to wonder," Paul replied. "There is no way we are coordinated enough to do this face up.... turn over Gil and get comfortable on the cushions."

"Face up is overrated. Angle ends up all wrong," Gil murmured as he set the glass down and started to fidget with the fly of his trousers.

"So speaks the voice of experience," Millander drawled shifting to give him more room and unsteadily go in search of some lubricant. "Hmm... I don't think alcohol would help speed the way..."

He was looking at his painting gear speculatively and came back with a small bottle. "The finest linseed oil. designed to slick the oils of the grand master painters of times past... or a rather expensive lube substitute."

"That's handy." Gil squirmed, glad that he still had the coordination to get his pants off on his own. So he wasn't that drunk, just drifty and a little more prone to say stupid things. "It's, it's been a while, but..."

"Then we're a perfect match," Paul murmured, and Gil could hear his clothes dropping to the floor. "My... bodily equipment can achieve erection but I...I don't ejaculate as such. Only in the manner that a female could. That has a tendency to make things awkward."

He glanced up, and tilted his head slightly, looking at Paul. Yes, there were faint differences, but he was muscled and... and Gil just couldn't manage any kind of reaction other than getting harder than he'd been. "Do you think that I care or that it bothers me?"

"It's bothered anyone I haven't paid to have sex with. I didn't want to... taint what we had by forcing that on you..." Paul murmured as he leaned closer. "But... a voluntary offer? I can't let that pass without capturing it and making it my own."

He had poured a little of the oil into his hands and was warming it, before he smooth the slick substance first over Gil's back.

Gil had crossed his arms, settled kneeling on the sofa, bracing against one of the arms and leaning on it so Paul would have space to move and neither of them would be too uncomfortable. He hadn't quite expected the massage, Paul's agile fingers rubbing over his back slickly, and it felt good to have that sensation tracing over his muscles. Yeah, it had been a while, a few years at least. Two, three? Probably more, because Gil tried not to count.

Counting the time that passed between sexual encounters was about as depressing as counting how many cases he'd worked in his life. "Oh, god..."

"There's a side effect of my condition," Millander murmured. "I can take as long as a woman to come to climax... several times if I wish. You think you can deal with my fucking your ass that long, Gil?" He pressed deep into muscles and then moved towards his ass.

"Mhm." Gil pressed his forehead against his folded arms, and leaned back into Paul's fingers. He was starting to slip towards muzzy, but that was the gin catching up with his bloodstream while his liver still chugged away slowly at the champagne. "That sounds really hot."

He was barely aware of Paul reaching out and picking up a bottle until the fizz of champagne tickled its way down his crack, and Paul followed it path with his tongue.

Gil closed his eyes for a long, shivery moment, muffling his groan against his arm. "Feels good..." Not the most articulate thing he could say, no, but Paul's tongue sliding down his ass crack, and then fingers pulling at his cheeks, didn't make for good coherence.

Another trickle of cool fizzing champagne and then the warmth of a tongue just there. This was not something he had ever have imagined this week would lead to, not in an eternity of guessing.

Consent had been the furthest thing from Gil's mind, really enjoying and offering... well, he hadn't thought he'd have to offer. The deal was pretty clear-cut and the only stipulation was essentially that he come back with all of his limbs still attached and his face on. That gave Paul a lot of leeway that... he hadn't taken.

Gil would've almost wondered why, except there was a tongue lapping champagne right against his asshole, and that was really more pressing than why.

Even his absent thoughts about alcohol helping to clean and sterilize the area did not prepare him for the probing of a tongue and then the more satisfying pushing in of linseed oiled fingers that stroked and teased in and around the whole area.

He did groan then, rocking back to push into Paul's touch, putting more weight on his forearms for leverage. Stretching, and he hadn't felt stretching like that in a long time. Just two fingers, but it was enough. And apparently the alcohol hadn't impeded him enough to keep his dick from slapping up against his stomach.

"Not hurting then?" Paul teased in a rough whisper. "You're tight, Gil. I could put more up here and you couldn't stop me..." It was more speculation than a promise. Millander liked to play with words more than physicality.

Couldn't stop him because his wrists were bound, but he wasn't secured to the sofa, and he had a bit of leeway. Wouldn't have to stop him was more the reality. Gil lolled his head, and sighed as he pushed back again. "Trust you."

It wasn't like Paul was going to fuck him with the champagne bottle.

The prickle of sensation at the thought that he could was enough, and for all his teasing preparation, Paul withdrew his fingers and was surprisingly straightforward and forceful about entering him. That was his concession to need and domination. Gil was left in no doubt that this was Paul's show, for all his consideration.

He was used to that, as Lady Heather had helpfully prodded at him to notice. And he didn't have to be in control, because it felt good. It felt good, even with Paul moving his hips forcefully, jarring Gil a little until he started to find a comfortable pace to fall into. He was average-sized, but hard and that was really all that mattered because he was using that size right, one sharp thrust hitting Gil's prostate. "Please..."

"Move with me, Gil," Paul murmured. "Long and slow... that's good for me." His hands reached over Gil's shoulders unwilling to find a grip there because of the slight injury and instead reaching to pin the bound hands and stretch them out even as he moved.

It changed the dynamic, and Gil moved the way that Paul was urging him to, because he was supposed to be responding to Paul's needs. It was easy to give in, stretch out under Paul and feel him blanketing Gil's back, pinning his hands down against the sofa arm while he slowly fucked Gil. In and out again, back and forth, like it was a well planned lazy fuck instead of the two of them a little drunk and managing that as the easier coordination.

"Like... this?"

"Y-yeah..." Paul's voice was a gasp rather than a stutter. "Mm... so tight. Fuck...."

Gil exhaled, and let his head hang down between his outstretched arms, arching back slowly against Paul before he half-remembered that hey, he could squeeze and make it feel even better. It really had been a while if he'd forgotten how to do that.

"Beautiful..." Millander murmured, the sounds of pleasure more and more obvious as he lost his restraint as Grissom teased him. He had been right, he did take longer, much longer and every now and then he would stop and give a full body shudder and a low moaning exhalation even as he then would thrust again and harder.

He was used to the rush for climax, for sex when it was a competition almost to see who could come faster. But this... Gil couldn't move his hands to stroke himself, and he couldn't quite drop his hips far enough to rub against the sofa, even if he was so hard that his balls ached and his dick twitched every time that Paul hit his prostate.

It looked like he wouldn't be coming until Paul was good and ready, and he seemed to have some way to go before he finally put on a different rhythm. By the time he did, the pair of them were slick with oil and perspiration, and the world had reduced to that inner sensation and the need to let go. 

Finally one hand pushed its way underneath him, feeling its way to his straining cock, flickering over it lightly before taking a firm grip.

Gil groaned, and fuck that felt so good after all that waiting. He could hardly think, just that there was a cock still pounding into his ass, and the fingers wrapped around his own cock was almost an electric feeling. It only took a few strokes before he started to come, a jerky sensation of release after having had to hold back after so long. Nothing dramatic, nothing amazing, just the almost missed feeling of orgasm hitting him when he was being fucked at the same time.

Paul fucked him all the way through it, stroking and tugging at him at the same time before hitting a moment of frenzy and shuddering to climax and a collapse atop and over Gil's body. 

"Fuck..."

Gil was now one with many sofa cushions. His arms were still stretched out over his head, and Paul was still in him, weighing him down, and... Well, he could breathe without any problem, and there was a lethargic enjoyment seeping into his muscles. 

"Amazing."

"After all that alcohol?" Paul murmured. "More like a miracle."

He managed a muzzy laugh, and shifted his arms as much as he could so he didn't pull his shoulder out of its socket. "Imagine that sober?"

"Maybe that's something to do tomorrow. And I have plans for the following night..." Paul forced himself to move a little to make them ore comfortable.

It was almost impossible to stifle the groan that escaped Gil as he felt Paul pull out. The man had had a damn good surgeon, because he'd had natural born males who didn't fuck half that well. "Yeah?"

"Mmm. It thought we might go to a select gathering." There was a smile in his voice.

Gil had the distinct impression that Paul wanted to show him off, and that was an odd thought. Except that Paul was stroking sticky fingers just below the leather collar that he wore all the time, except when showering. So maybe it wasn't such an odd thought after all. "Sounds interesting."

"I think you'll enjoy it. I shall enjoy seeing how you interact with some of the people there," Paul murmured again. "And then soon enough it will be your time to go home."

"And I don't know what comes after that." Except stepping back into normal life, which... Gil didn't know. He'd do it, and he was looking forwards to cases again, but... There was a vague 'but' that he couldn't quite explain and it shouldn't have been there at all. 

There should have been no 'but'.

"I'm not going to suddenly dislike your company, Gil," Paul replied. "Despite the circumstances or maybe because of them... you've been a better friend to me than anyone else I've known."

Despite or because. Gil wasn't sure either, but there was some measure of comfort in knowing that he'd just been being himself through it all. "All right."

"Let's uh... go to bed." Paul said decisively. "You'll need your strength now that you've opened this particular door."

Strength? Gil gave a lazy shift, trying to gather himself to push himself up on his arms. "Sure." Paul was implying something, but he was still close to Gil, hot and sweaty, and the sofa was comfortable. 

Well, they'd get around to going to bed. Eventually.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Tension had a way of building, sinking into his muscles and bones, into -- almost into his thoughts. He hadn't gone in to work that night, but he had called Catherine and gotten clearance to make sure that Greg got situated into the House, and that if something big happened, he was on call.

Nick really hoped that his pager didn't go off or that his cell didn't ring. He was smashed, and he didn't even have any of the good painkillers like Greg. From the moment that the neckless bastard in the suit had taken a swing at Nick's head, he hadn't really stopped moving. From getting Greg back to getting him through the fight to getting him to the Rampart and the hospital to have his injuries treated properly there, he'd only stolen catnaps and coasted on vending machine food, a slice of pizza, and coffee.

In some order, he was going to throw up from lack of real food, and pass out from exhaustion, but. But, he still had a faint hazy elation because they'd only kept Greg in the hospital for a couple of hours to IV some fluids into him, and that had been enough time for the bureaucracy to kick in and give Greg his pay rank and housing band.

"Hold on, keep your eyes closed. No peeking, man, I'm just getting the door open…" Greg was propped up against the wall, hands over his eyes, and Nick was willing to swear that he was peeking.

"I can barely keep my eyes open anyway," Greg replied and Nick could definitely see the glitter of a dark eye through a gap in his fingers. 

"Uh-huh. What color's the carpet out here?" Nick struggled with the key for a second -- there were at least three keys on the ring he'd been given, dead bolt, normal lock, and probably a spare or something.

"...I don't know I have my eyes closed?" Greg replied after a long pause. "Man, I can't believe this is my own place. Really my own place!" His excitement was pushing his energy levels up forcibly.

Nick was waiting for the crash. "Yeah. It's kinda gunna be like a hotel suite, but you'll break the place in as your own in time. The furniture it comes with is pretty crappy no matter what your housing band. Particle board and plastic and metal and bad cushions. I think only Griss ever kept the original stuff. Warrick went all out -- leather everything, man, I bet he'd have his TV-set in a leather stand if he could manage it." Nick heard the bottom lock click, and pushed it open with a grin. 

Nice. Unfinished wood and crappy cushions, yeah, but the walls were painted from the last tenant and it looked... hell, a home was a home was a home. Even if it did have exposed pipes up at the ceiling. High ceilings, too, but it looked honest to god nice inside. Wood floor.

Nick stepped back and tugged gently at Greg's shoulders. "Greg Sanders, welcome to your kinda bland apartment."

"Nick, I may have had a visitation from the good drug fairy but I can still feel stuff on my back there and-" Greg stopped dead and looked around at the place, the smile on his face hesitant and then growing to an amazed grin. "This place is huge and... and there's no one else here... Well except you, Nicky, but... wow."

"It's an older building, but it's where you fell in the housing band right now and what they had available, and..." Nick grinned as he nudged Greg forwards and closed the door behind them. "Thought you might prefer the space to being in a newer building with smaller housing. This is the building Griss is in."

Which had been a little sneaky of Nick, but if he hadn't been able to get Greg into the same building that he and Warrick were in, and couldn't even get him into the same building that Sara and Hodges were in, well. He didn't want Greg completely feeling like he knew no one around him.

"Our Griss?" Greg grinned again. "Cool. I get to go and see him." He was touching everything, as if checking it was real, and shaking his head. "I can't believe all this, Nick. It's just... not anything I could imagine."

"Nah?" Nick wandered over towards the kitchen-area, and set Greg's pain pills and antibiotics down on the counter. "Not even if you were kind of reaching for it?"

Greg shook his head. "Dreams are one thing but giving serious consideration to something? You saw what it was like where I am... was. Shit."

Nick watched Greg's hand land on the back of a chair, and he grinned a little. "You'll get used to thinking of yourself as House Braun. And, well, it's not a dream anymore, is it? It's just the way things are going to be."

"I still think I'm going to wake up on the floor at Wesker." Greg shook his head looking a bit stunned. "I thought that was it you know? Check out time for one battered DNA tech. And then you guys..." He looked a bit wobbly. "I think I need to try out the couch."

"I think you need to try out the bed, Greg," Nick insisted. "It's been a hell of a couple of days, okay? I'm going to camp out on your sofa today until you get caught up on sleep."

Greg just looked at him with a hopeful look. "Uh... I'm not really used to being completely on my own. Dorms and... y'know. Can I share the sofa with you?"

"Uh..." It was notable that Greg didn't offer to share the bed. Nick figured that Greg had a lot of hang-ups, and he took a step back, leaning to look into the living room that was set up. "I don't know if you'll be comfortable, but I'm up for it."

"Cool. You must be pretty wiped too," Greg said. "I'll... see if I can find some blankets or something. I'd get you some food or a drink but, I don't figure there's anything in there."

"Nah. Look, you're hurt, just..." Nick took a step towards him and reached for his shoulders to gently urge him back. "Sit down, stretch out. I'll grab a couple of blankets. Just rest."

It was a measure of how affected Greg had to be that he nodded and let Nick do that. Any other time he would have been bouncing around his new place exploring. But Nick knew that the injections of anti-inflammatories and painkillers only went so far.

So Nick explored, checking doors, peering into rooms -- two bedrooms, two baths, a weird kinda half a room that Greg could probably put to use anyway, and a linen closet that had towels and sheets and a couple of cream-colored fleece blankets that he grabbed.

That would do it, though it was kind of strange to be moving to sleeping on a couch when all they had done before was one kiss. A damn fine kiss, but even so. It was just sleeping because Greg was still a wreck. That was all, and Nick could handle that. He'd crashed out on Warrick's sofa before, and even Catherine's. It wasn't any special meaningful thing or any of that shit, Nick decided as he wandered back into the living room.

Greg was lying back as he had suggested and he kicked off his shoes and was half curled on his side as if he was used not to taking up too much space. He looked a lot more vulnerable like that, and young, even as he peeked up through his lashes at the sound of Nick coming back in.

"Hey." Quiet greeting, just in case Greg needed that kind of warning. Nick started to unfold the blankets, letting them fall open instead of wasting much time being all neat. "We'll get you groceries or something tomorrow. It's my day off anyway, so... More than happy to help you settle in."

Greg nodded. "I... could use it. I don't really know what stuff costs. I mean, we got... well about $30 allowance a week for stuff. Including clothes. I know where the cheapest clothes are." He gave a slight smile. "I'm gonna pay you guys back for all the stuff I've had off of you, I swear."

"Nah, don't bother. We'll just mooch off of you when you bring in the good stuff to work, you know?" Nick grinned as he shook the one blanket out over top of Greg. "And tomorrow night you need to get back to the Rampart and get your debit card and stuff. Set up your House accounts. I just got them to rush on the Housing band 'cause everyone needs a place to live." He felt a little guilty that the pair of jeans he was wearing cost more than a week of Greg's food and clothing allowance.

"When I get it, I'm going to max it out on a party for you guys." Greg informed him, shifting over so there was a clear place for Nick to sit down and settle. "House Warming. We might even get Griss to come if he's in the same building. Or we could take the party to him."

"His place? But where would he go to hide from it?" Nick winked as he settled down beside Greg, sitting while Greg was curled on his side.

"The lab?" Greg suggested and looked at Nick. "Uh... Nick, you know the kiss thing... you were okay with that right?"

"Yeah. More than okay," he assured, shifting, slouching a little while he tried to kick his boots off. Oh, god they felt good to get the hell off.

"Good. Because I wasn't sure if it was a sort of 'indulge the overly dramatic geek-guy' thing," Greg said immediately moving to try and sandwich himself up the side of Nick. "I'm not really good with normal stuff you know? Sorry."

Okay, sandwiching was good. Sandwiching... he could take, Nick decided as he shifted an arm to gently loop it over Greg. "I like to think I'm pretty good with it, since that's all I know much about. Just... rest, get settled in here, get a sense of perspective, Greg. It's been a fast few days, and you know what? I'm still going to be here once you get used to normal."

"I can do lessons in normal..." Greg replied, and his voice wavered just a bit as he settle into that comfortable niche. "I owe you so much, Nick. For all this. Being here. All the way through."

"You say that like it was hard." Nick's fingers stroked faintly, careful not to hit any bruised or beaten spots. And there were a lot. "You're a friend, and you're pretty cool, and you're a good Investigator."

"Yeah well House Wesker doesn't encourage that sort of thing," Greg replied. He arched a little as sensitive skin reacted. "Mm." He tilted his head up towards Nick watching him with a faint smile.

"Going out on a limb for people?" Nick shrugged. "Maybe not, but... most people do. Most people are good people." It was something he had to believe, after all of those cases that came through the office every day.

"You are," Greg said with a definite tone. "I swear I'll let you sleep in a minute if we try out another kiss."

"Just another test run, right?" Nick winked, but leaned right and down so it was easier to press his mouth against Greg's. Yeah, that was nice and easy to do, and it wasn't as if he'd never looked at Greg and thought 'God, I'd love to be with him' because he was a friend and he was attractive, and the best relationships started out as friendships.

Greg's mouth opened willingly to him. It was like being a teenager and making out on the couch, only no teenager knew how to do that with their mouth. No teenager knew how to slide their tongue like that, no weird drooling issues, no death by biting teeth, just damp heat and Greg's tongue teasing just inside of Nick's lips before Nick leaned back slowly. "Damn."

"You don't like it?" Greg asked with a little smirk as he made himself very comfortable holding on to Nick.

"No, I think I loved it." Nick's eyebrows went up a little, and he leaned back against the back of the sofa. "Yeah, now you tell me to go to sleep. You, sleep, now."

Greg smirked. "Not feeling so sleepy now or something?"

"Or something," Nick affirmed quietly. "But I'm serious. Sleep, Greg. We both need to sleep."

Greg smiled. "Okay. I get it. I'm very bad but I can be quiet. Sometimes. Well, hardly ever. But, yeah sleeping would be good."

It was almost as if he expected Nick to do something. Claim a reward maybe or just push things further. Perhaps it was all he knew to expect.

Well, since they were already bucking convention just by getting Greg out of that hell House, Nick might as well maintain the trend. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back, slouching more. It was going to be an uneasy sleep, but Nick was pretty sure once it hit him, it'd hit him hard.

"Night."

* * *

Gil had his misgivings about it since before he'd even stepped into the 'select gathering' that was actually a party, complete with red carpet, valet parking, and Gil having to dress up very nicely.

The misgivings had started with the jeweled collar that was replacing the comfortable leather one he'd been wearing, and continued to the somewhat modified tuxedo that Gil was wearing, and had spiked with the leash that Paul had attached to his collar.

It was not the comfortable privacy of the arrangement he had become used to and it wasn't like he considered himself good with parties at the best of times, let alone in a situation where he could potentially cause embarrassment and disgrace to Millander

Nervous didn't begin to describe Gil. His stomach was in his throat, and Paul was leading him down a decadent, over-lit corridor, through security guards, by a leash. Part of him had wanted to ask if that was necessary, but Paul had been smiling when he'd hooked it up, and...

It did seem that the other people coming to the party were behaving in the same way. Other Personals in their finery, male and female alike, were leashed up as they walked the red carpet. He recognized a lot of Vegas notables.

Sam Braun's two sons, and... Atwater.

Imperial Sheriff Atwater was just standing inside of the door, with Ecklie on a leash. That would've been a Kodak moment for Gil under any other circumstances, something to frame and pass around or to let Catherine look at every time that he was hanging around the department hassling them. 

Gil tried to hang back slightly, sticking close to Paul if only so he could avoid conversation.

There seemed to be a leisurely mingling going on before the leashes were unraveled and handed in, or pocketed. One woman used the thin precious metal chain she had used on her Personal as an item of jewelry as she wound it around her arm and clipped it tight, so it sparkled with gems. Most of the people around him were wearing the marks of their house in some discrete form or another. Paul had donned the symbol of the Imperial Throne. The Trinity-Infinity sign -- an infinite loop inside an equal sided triangle, with a solitaire emerald that declared him to be an Imperial Judge. He was attracting some attention, even from those representatives of the Great Houses and it was interesting to note how much power he wielded even among such an august crowd.

Seeing how he was received in a 'select' event -- it was surprisingly populated for a select event, but they were the upper echelons of the upper echelons. It was little wonder that Paul got sick of the fawning. No one had even approached him yet, but they were watching. It reminded him to stand up straight and remember who and what he was supposed to be as long as he had that collar on and was... leashed. It was best to wait for Paul to pull him to a stop, to wait for Paul to unhook his leash once he was somewhere in the room that he wanted to be.

"You're doing well," Paul murmured as he unhooked the leash. "Causing a bit of a sensation, in a discrete way. I've never attended with a Personal before."

Gil turned in to Paul a little, half-watching what he was doing with that leash. "I'll try not to embarrass you."

"I have confidence in you," Millander replied as he tucked the leash into his pocket. "The Personals are expected to mingle independently, but keep an eye on me. You will be required to fetch and serve my drinks and anything else I require. Don't worry, Eiger doesn't insist on Imperial manners."

That was one thing to be thankful for. He was going to have enough on his plate, even if it was his last night. Maybe the event was a test of some kind, but to what end, Gil couldn't guess. He glanced at Paul's face, reading his expression as at ease, and nodded. "Yes, Master Paul."

Paul stroked at his hair. "We have illustrious company tonight. Bruce Wayne of the House Wayne and his Personal, Kal-El. There's a wide belief that he's turned up primarily because House Luthor is here making a deal with Eiger. You'll find the politics fascinating."

"If that's a hint to listen well tonight, I will," Gil murmured quietly. The stroking soothed him just a little. So there were Metas there?

"That's exactly the sort of thing that makes me want to keep you," Paul replied. "You would be invaluable as someone able to observe and question. Make no mistake, half of the Personals here will have already noted that you're not professionally trained, but they may underestimate you on that matter." Millander look at him and then turned to go in. "Follow until I give you permission."

"Yes, Master Paul." It was easy to follow after him, trailing behind Paul as he entered the main room. He'd at least have to say hello to Ecklie once he was socializing; to do otherwise would be rude, and it might be nice to throw Conrad a little off kilter. He'd been the Sheriff's Personal for as long as Gil had been in Vegas with House Braun.

No one could ever accuse Atwater of being an apolitical Imperial Sheriff in the city. And...

The 'that makes me want to keep you' line sunk in for Gil a little belatedly, and he was already following behind Paul. It was a little disturbing because half of him quite liked the thought of the idea and the rest of him reacted very differently.

"Judge Millander, I see you have a new acquisition," the Sheriff greeted at him. "A familiar face, no less."

"A temporary acquisition only, unfortunately," Paul replied with a smile. "But one that has me considering the benefits of having a Personal in serious detail."

There wasn't anything for Gil to do, except stand close to Paul, slightly behind him; shadowing him and keeping his posture straight, comfortable. Ecklie was looking at him, and he quirked an eyebrow at the man.

"I've found my Ecklie to have been of incomparable help over the years," Sheriff Atwater replied. "As they say, once you've experienced what it's like, they're less a luxury and more of a necessity. I'm sure my marriage wouldn't have survived if not for him."

"Fortunately something that isn't my concern, though I agree," Millander replied and rested his hand possessively on Grissom's arm. "Gil, fetch me some wine, and then you may mingle with the other Personals. I advise you to get to know them."

"Yes, Master Paul."

"Yes, Eiger might do that, especially if he's trying to impress..." The Sheriff trailed off, leaving Gil to wonder what 'that' was. "Fetch me a drink, Conrad, and do likewise."

Wine. Paul preferred a red wine, decent year, and Gil had enough ability to spot a good drink that he hadn't needed any training in getting Paul a glass of wine. There was a table in the center, and no waiters, not really. Most everyone there had a personal to handle the task for them.

Gil just wished that Ecklie wasn't just slightly behind him.

"So this is the vacation, Grissom?" Ecklie murmured as they made their way to the drinks table. "You've got Willows standing in on high profile cases while you play a Personal to the Judge?"

"You're the first person I'd expect to hear insult your own profession, Ecklie," Gil told him quietly. "Willows can handle it."

"I object to amateurs," Ecklie replied. "You're not the real thing, and you know it. I know how you think of me, thinking yourself different somehow. It's not so easy being a Personal, is it?"

He did seem genuinely offended by the concept of an impersonator, as if the status was very important to him. Of course, with Ecklie, status was pretty much his entire life.

"I never implied that it was." Gil stopped by the table, eyeing the wines that were sitting out, just freshly poured before reaching for a deep red. "I just don't like you much, Conrad. If you were an Investigator, I still probably wouldn't like you."

Conrad gave a bit of a smirk as he expertly selected scotch and selected ice. "Oh, I think you should really try and like me. Tonight at least. Otherwise you'll be eaten alive."

"Eaten alive? You'll have to forgive me for being amateur, but I'm not sure what you mean by that." It sounded ominous, that was for sure.

Ecklie smirked. "You'll see. If you don't make arrangements, then they get forced upon you. I'm at least a friendly face."

Gil turned slightly, glass of wine in hand, and he scanned the room for Paul to take it back to him. "I see." No, he didn't, but he could tell that if Ecklie was a friendly face, Gil was fucked.

Ecklie obviously knew something, but was having too much silent amusement to actually tell Grissom. "I'll see you later on, Gil. For a gem level Investigator, you're surprisingly slow to get a clue."

With that, he walked off with the scotch on the rocks the Sheriff favored.

Paul had moved on from the Sheriff, but he was easy to spot. It seemed like he was the only Imperial Judge of his rank there. Gil walked carefully over towards him, avoiding eyes and accidentally touching other people until he came to a stop just at Paul's elbow. "Master Paul?"

Paul glanced at him "Ah, thank you, Gil." He took the drink. "You have my leave to... socialize. I'll call if I need you."

"Thank you, Master Paul." He'd stay relatively close, or at least keep track of where Paul was in the room. As he started to turn away, he glanced up to see who Paul had been talking to.

The man opposite him had startling vivid blue eyes, and seemed roughly around Nick's age, but had none of Nick's soft gentle presence. There was the sensation that he had been duly analyzed and weighed up in a fraction of a second.

If he hadn't recognized him from the discrete emblem he wore, the man standing just a little behind him gave it away. The man was beautiful in a way that couldn't be described and had an overwhelming presence. Plus he was frequently on TV -- Kal-El, Bruce Wayne's most precious Meta. He gave Gil a slight smile, making him look as young as Greg.

The man with the vivid blue eyes had to be the Head of the Great House Wayne, Bruce Wayne and one of the inner circle of the Imperial Court. If he hadn't have been watching with his intent on observation he would have missed the minute signal Bruce gave his Personal that immediately made him step out towards Gil.

Gil had been willing to drift off, to try to honestly socialize with the other Personals. He was probably the only amateur, a rent-a-Personal, there, and Kal-El had to be aware that he was that. Hopefully he could learn something as the night passed rather than get sniped at for not being a real Personal.

Yes, he was definitely being followed, and once he was some distance away from Paul, there wasn't anything to do but stop and smile a little uncertainly at Kal-El.

"Hi," Kal-El said pleasantly enough. "Wanna sit down? You look a kind of unsettled and we've got a bunch of sharks in here tonight."

"... And I presume that makes me a fish?" Manners, he needed to remember his manners. "I'd like that, thank you." Somewhere in there, he should have introduced himself. Shit. "I'm, uh, Gilbert Grissom."

Kal-El gave a half grin. "Pretty much. Nice to meet you Gilbert Grissom, I'm Kal-El... or Kal is easier. Master Bruce calls me Clark, but that's for within House Walls." He put out a hand to shake.

Gil accepted it, and it wasn't hard to look interested in him. "I'm just Gil, House Walls or not. It's good to meet you."

His hand was warm and when he smiled it was like the room lit up. "Gil, then. Have a seat. First time out huh?"

And probably his last. "Yes. I'm not used to big social events like this." It was easy to follow Kal, and sit in one of the chairs that was lining the room, rather than at any of the tables where people were seated here and there. Paul was still talking with Wayne.

Kal chuckled. "You should try the Imperial Court sometime. I thought someone ought to take you under their wing... Bruce agreed."

All that apparently had been communicated in a crook of a finger by Bruce Wayne. Maybe they shared some kind of telepathy, or maybe it came from just reading one's owner properly. Gil settled himself as gracefully as he could manage, and put his hands on his knees. "I appreciate that. The only people I personally know other than Master Paul are the Sheriff and his Personal." He recognized Braun's sons, and quite a few other people there from investigations he'd run, but that wasn't knowing.

"Ecklie? I saw him move on you. He thinks he has you in his territory now, so he has a dominant role," Kal settled effortlessly next to him. "I heard what he was saying to you."

"Did you?" Gil tilted his head a little, studying Kal's keen, young-looking face. He was one of the most notable Metas probably in the country, and he seemed oddly at ease with his lot in life. Probably because he hadn't been military seized. "I'm, uh... A little lost, but could you explain this subtext I'm picking up?"

"Subtext is a very good word for it." Kal turned towards him. "Gil, the odds at a gathering like this is that the Personals will be required to entertain the crowd. Sometimes it's one on one... but Eiger doesn't favor that as his tastes lie elsewhere." Kal twitched a grin. "So that means it's generally with each other. A lot of buddying up goes on with the Personals at this point. Ecklie was trying to make you think you have no choice but him."

Gil went quiet as that processed through his brain. So that meant sex with other Personals. Not Paul, which Gil was comfortable with, but other Personals... publicly. "Ah."

"I take it your Master neglected to tell you that?" Kal said sympathetically. "You have a problem with that?"

"I... Guess it doesn't matter if I have a problem with it or not." He just performed badly when it was with strangers who were judging or watching to judge or... That was why he'd gotten a wood level in sex, he'd freaked out all of those years ago at the certification and never had bothered to go again to fix the level.

Dammit. That was what Paul had been smirking about. A warm hand rested on his a moment. "Gil, don't say that. There are choices available, just not the same as they are for anyone else." 

Gil wasn't sure how he managed to sound so sincere. "There are people here you don't want to be with as a novice."

"I assume this performing gets... elaborate, or...?" Gil lifted his eyebrow a little as kept watching Kal-El. The hand on his was friendly, a bit like Catherine patting him when she had a hint of 'Gil, stop talking before it's too late' in her eyes.

"It can," Clark replied after a pause. "Look we can do ourselves a favor, and sort something out now, or I can become the usual feeding frenzy, which isn't my favorite experience, and you can have Ecklie or one of the bottom feeders grabbing at you because everyone else is wise to it. The trick to remember is that it's a lot of play acting."

"I'm a scientist, and not much of an actor," Gil told him, still watching him thoughtfully. "If... That sounds like a very good idea. I'd rather not get that close to Ecklie. I appreciate the offer of help."

"Well it's mutual. I frequently get ganged up on and it's rather rude just to throw people around." He smiled again. "It's nice to find someone who isn't after some sort of weird political reason to fuck me."

"Lucky for me that I don't like politics?" Gil lifted a hand from its tight grip on his own knee, the one that Kal wasn't half-touching, and rubbed at his face. Center himself. He just needed to breathe, not think and react. It would be easy to make it through the night. Just roll with it, like a drawn out scene. Trust that Paul wouldn't put him in a truly bad situation.

"So who here is good to avoid?"

"The Luthor Personal, Dominic..." Kal replied immediately. "Ecklie isn't that bad, but I tend to be out of his league. The Teague's Personal... nasty piece of work. Selena -- she's a dominant Personal..." He reeled off a handful of names and the sort of things they did before finishing with "...unless of course you really like that sort of thing."

Gil glanced out over the room, looking for Paul again. "I only like that sort of thing if I trust the person. I trust Master Paul." He darted a sideways smirk at Kal-El. "And I guess I'm going to trust what you're telling me."

"I have a trustworthy face," Kal replied smiling back. "I like you. You remind me a little of Bruce... well, without the tortured angst pit of the soul thing going on, of course."

The edges of Gil's mouth twitched up. He wasn't sure how he could remind anyone of one of the most influential House leaders in existence. "Thank you. I have a good standard of living, so there's not much for me to be tortured about."

"You'd be surprised. Some of my fellow Metas go crazy, and compared to many, they live in luxury." Kal replied.

"They do," Gil agreed. "I have a colleague who was just challenged out of a... very bad House. He wasn't a Meta, but his likelihood of buying himself out eventually was about the same."

"It's a difficult situation," Kal replied. "I believe that everyone has the right to earn themselves free regardless. That the choice should be there, but then... I see a lot of Metas try and destroy everyone and everything. I stop them. They ask me sometimes why I don't just make it happen. I guess I could... but..."

He said it so casually, as if it were no more effort to make the daydream happen than it might take for Gil to go and get a coffee.

And maybe that was all the effort it would take. Gil let his eyes drift a little, following Paul across the room, watching for any gestures. "But you see sense in the system as it is?"

"When the system works, it works well. But every system is open to abuse and it is better to encourage a natural societal evolution," Kal replied. "Imposed regimes rarely succeed. Only half a century or so ago, the Bond-Slave as chattel was the dominant form in our society. Now, most Houses have seized on the finding that happier workers are more productive and development has accelerated." He paused a moment. "Perhaps I would choose to stay as I am, but I would like to be able to choose that."

"I understand that." He'd made the decision himself, to content himself with working off the massive debt House Gerard owed House Braun when he could have challenged to be elsewhere and had very little to work off. There was a comfort in having a place in life, a comfort in not having a Freeman's responsibilities and pitfalls. "In case you ever have the choice? Being a Freeman isn't as enjoyable as it sounds. There's a great deal more politics in it than you'd expect."

"I know. I also know the majority of the population only wants the illusion of freedom." Kal looked at him. "I wouldn't give up Bruce for the world, even if I were free."

He looked sideways to Kal for a moment, catching sight of a soft kind of wonder. "You love him. He must be good to you -- not that I could imagine him being anything else." And Paul...

Gil didn't know. Paul left Gil wondering, unsettled, both wanting and not wanting. He was sure that if Paul pressed for more, Gil would... He didn't know. Just then, he was knee-jerk obeying Paul, and he'd probably say yes without thinking. Given time...

Paul glanced over his shoulder, and made a short gesture to him. "Excuse me, Kal. I'm being summoned." Anything as long as it kept him from thinking.

The young Meta nodded as if that was to be expected as Gil made his way back to Millander. "Mr. Wayne was interested in meeting you, Gil. I've told him about your background."

Bruce Wayne was still looking at him. "I understand you're the Gil Grissom who wrote the Entomology of Murder?" he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

"Yes, sir, I am." That wasn't what he'd expected to be called over by Paul for. A refill on his wine glass, maybe. "It's badly in need of revisions if I find the time to get around to making them."

"You've discovered more information?" Bruce Wayne seemed to be genuinely interested

"Mostly that timeline of insect development can be varied from the norm by certain situations, such as wrapping a body up tightly in different materials, and even different weather conditions. I've had the opportunity to research that very thoroughly at the lab in recent years. Entomology of a Murder was... admittedly rudimentary," Gil said honestly. "Basic information that could easily be improved on."

"Hmm. What is it that prevents you from making those revisions?" Bruce seemed to appreciate the candor more so than the Sheriff ever did.

"Making the time between double and triple shifts, and court. Every once in a while I trade sleeping for working on it. Eventually I'll have it properly revised." Eventually. He was sure that his seven days and a couple after that would come out of his actual vacation time, which meant it probably wouldn't be happening that year, either.

Bruce seemed to consider. "Are there pieces of equipment that your laboratory requires that would free up your man-hours?"

Gil raised his eyebrow a little, started to open his mouth, and then looked sideways to Paul for some kind of reassurance before he actually said anything. Millander nodded. "Go ahead, Gil."

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a need to ask permission before sticking his foot in his mouth. "We always end up overusing manpower in the department, but a lot of our Trace Equipment is... starting to break down. The Sheriff is laboring under the delusion that we can do just as fast with a materials index and magnifying glasses when the analyzer is on the fritz."

"Which of course takes time," Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow at him. "I'll speak to the Sheriff. I'll replace your lab equipment on the proviso that you complete those revisions in legitimate working time. I want that book."

Just like that, an impossible dream for the lab achieved because he happened to be somewhere at the right time, seeing the right person.

In the time that it took to blink back disbelief, Gil answered, "If you did that, I'd work very hard to get the revisions done, sir."

"I should hope so," Bruce Wayne smiled a little.

"That's very generous of you Mr. Wayne," Paul said smiling. "Do you often my bargains with other's Personals?"

"I make bargains with men of intelligence, Judge Millander," Bruce replied. "Besides... my Kal-El likes him, and he's an instinctive judge of character."

Gil shifted back slightly, close to Paul's side. He seemed... not angered or peeved, but interested by what had just passed. So the comment to Bruce was based on curiosity and interest alone. Was he expected to add anything else to the conversation, or go or...

"Gil, would you get me another drink?" Paul asked. "Mr. Wayne, can he save your Personal the trip?"

"No need." Bruce was suddenly holding a glass Gil was sure he hadn't been before. "I'm taken care of..."

"Yes, Master Paul." A nod to Paul while he took the empty glass, and Gil turned to head back to the table, watching people this time but just as careful not to bump into anyone as he got there and reached for another glass of the dark red wine.

"Talking to the alien?" A strange man approached him. He was wearing the colors of House Luthor and was giving him a speculative look.

Gil looked over his shoulder to either side, and then cocked a speculative look at the man in the colors of House Luthor. "No, I'm getting my Master a drink."

"But you were. Don't believe anything he tells you... he's not one of us, after all," The other man also made a drink. "Wayne allows him too much leeway. He's inherently dangerous."

Gil mustered a smile as he turned away from the short, goateed man with the dark purple shirt. "Excuse me, I have to go." Not that Paul was impatient, but it was a good excuse to walk away with a faster step.

"I'll see you later," the Luthor Personal called out behind him, which was a little discomfiting. Gil was not used to people looking at him that way. By the time he got back, the dynamic had changed again. Now Lionel Luthor was facing off against Bruce Wayne, and Kal was back loitering behind his Master with an implacable silence.

"And how is your Heir, Lionel?" Bruce was asking as Millander watched with great interest. "I'm surprised you didn't bring him with you to Vegas. I understand he enjoys the environment."

"A little too much, but I suppose that you know how that goes," Lionel drawled. "He's finishing up his schooling, and actually applying himself. Who am I to disturb that kind of self drive?"

Gil edged up beside Paul, brushed his elbow faintly, and offered him the wine glass.

"A potential Head of House should be well equipped to take on his fellows," Bruce replied. "I understand his scientific prowess is impressive. I thought you had indicated he was going into business grades."

"He is," Lionel confirmed, smiling at Bruce, and Paul. "The science, well... He's less genius with it than one hopes and it's really something for... property to dabble in."

Millander tensed at that. Bruce Wayne's eccentric personal interest in the sciences was well known and Luthor had delivered a rather underhand insult. "Really? I'm sure he can turn his hand to anything with House Luthor's support. I find it interesting that you still adhere to the Blood-Code for your Heirs. Would that not make them similar to property?"

"Nothing of the sort. It's merely my way of making sure he has the best guidance." Blood-Code. Gil had to think about that for a moment. It was a little antiquated, but people who adhered by Blood-Code had the strictest control over their families. Sam Braun didn't run his house that way, and both of his sons seemed to naturally know that it was better to work for and support House Braun for when it was their time to shine instead of splitting off on their own.

"There's nothing at all wrong with the Blood-Code, is there, Judge Millander?"

"It's the prevalent mode in the Great Houses," Paul said in a soft drawl. "Used by the Emperor himself for his own family. Of course, I've also seen its downside pass before my judgment in the courts. It's a tragedy when siblings are so insecure about their hierarchy that they turn to murder, or a punishment inadvertently has terrible consequences. But it's the safest way of ensuring the ambitions of the familial line are perpetuated through the generations."

Lionel seemed to be smiling smugly, and he nodded once Paul was finished. "I'm sure that some day you'll have heirs of your own, Wayne."

Gil processed Paul's words through his mind, took note of them, but preferred the tone that went with them, the disarmingly diplomatic way he spoke. Paul never stuttered in public, never stuttered when he was dominating Gil. He only stuttered when he was dealing with emotions that he had suppressed for decades. 

"I shall look forwards too it. Alfred would enjoy it. Of course I could adopt an Heir..." 

There was a noticeable hush as those words were spoken. 

Paul cleared his throat. "That legislation is unlikely to be passed, Mr. Wayne. The Emperor still favors Blood-Code succession." 

None of it really mattered to Gil, and he wasn't participating in conversation. He was just watching. Kal was slightly behind Wayne, and the Luthor Personal was handing Luthor his drink. Gil let his eyes drift a little, taking in the Personal's clothes and cuffs and collars, still mindfully listening to Paul. The Luthor Personal was well qualified, showing a strong business acumen as well as metal level in most of the traditional erotic disciplines. Gil had to suppress a snort at that. Obviously the man had hidden depths.

"Mr. Wayne is just reluctant to marry," Lionel said, taking a slow sip of his drink.

"Quite so. I am somewhat of an idealist in that respect. I have no need to marry for power or money," Bruce answered lazily, flickering his gaze over Gil for a moment and giving him the merest hint of a smile.

Gil wondered why Bruce was smiling at him. Unless it was to see if someone was laughing at the joke, in which case, Gil was trying hard not to react to the verbal spars. "Or, apparently, continuance of your lineage. Well, none of my concern." Lionel took another sip, and leaned to murmur some kind of order to his Personal.

The fabric at the side of Paul's jacket brushed Gil's hand, and he gravitated faintly closer, switching his interest to looking at Kal's collar.

It was unusual for a Personal's collar. It seemed to have a covered metal section at the center that appeared to be lead from his experience, but the rest of it was emblazoned with House Wayne insignia and his Master's unique pattern. He hadn't noticed before, but the Meta's cuffs were ablaze with gem levels in an astonishing variety of disciplines ranging from philosophy to the characteristic Champion bands, with their victory patterns. For such a young man and such an easy manner it was a bit of a shock to realize the incredible breadth of his training and range of his abilities. 

He was a Meta, though, one of the best known. It shouldn't have surprised Gil, not really, that he had so many qualifications. It was a shame he couldn't buy himself free. Maybe in time the laws would be changed, like that adoption one that Bruce had just mentioned.

Bruce nodded slightly. "If you'll excuse me, Judge Millander, I must go have that conversation with the Sheriff regarding your Personal. Thank you for your pleasant conversation."

Paul nodded and drew Gil off to one side as if he didn't want them to be left alone with the Luthors. "Sit with me a moment," he murmured.

A hand on his arm was as good as a leash in effectiveness, and Gil didn't particularly want to be left alone with the Luthors, either. "Of course."

Paul was keeping his voice low and intimate as he pulled him down to sit with him. "Well, even I couldn't have predicted the effect you would have had on this crowd. To attract the attention of Bruce Wayne and the alien..." He nearly laughed.

It was easy to lean in, eyes watching Paul's facial expressions. "Apparently this is a room full of sharks, and I'm a fish -- like a bad night at the city's holding tank when the unlucky clubbers get in with the hardened criminals. If I drag the metaphor out, I think that makes Kal... a Dolphin." Or a whale. Gil was winging it.

"He likes you?" Paul smiled a little more. "You have a knack of making unexpected allies. It is easy to forget that he's quite possibly the most powerful creatures the world has ever seen to date. And the most convincing rationale for the necessity of Metas as bond-slaves."

"I think even if they weren't bond-slaves... he'd stay right where he was, anyway." Gil glanced back towards Kal, who was trailing along with Bruce for the moment while other Personals mingled on their own with each other. There had been a tone of conviction in his voice when he'd said that to Gil. "Is there anything else unexpected that I should keep an ear out for?"

"I gather that you've worked out that there's likely to be some sort of event?" Paul asked, leaning to brush had his hair a moment.

"Some... kind of sexually-based event," Gil confirmed. He wasn't comfortable with the idea, but if it was going to happen, Gil couldn't quite say he was going to sit this one out. His only wish was that he didn't still have his shoulder bandaged to cover a few of the deeper cuts that kept opening up. "I'll try not to reflect badly on you."

"The host chooses the theme, and the Personals improvise an entertainment of sorts. It's generally... nothing as inspired as our own contact," Paul said patting Gil's thigh. "But I wanted you to come, to meet people. You can see why -- just being in the right place and time has netted you something of great benefit."

"Yes, it has." The promise of new equipment, which would make all of their lives easier, but particularly Hodges and Nick. 

He wasn't going to think about the fact that he'd just accidentally done David Hodges a favor. "Do you want me to... continue meeting people and listening?" Or stay there at Paul's side. Even if they just sat there.

"Yes. There's a downside to having House Wayne's favor. It gains you House Luthor's automatic enmity," Paul replied. "I want you to be careful around Dominic, the Luthor Personal. He's deceptively tricky. If you feel you can trust Kal-El, then stay with him, but try and find out what some of the groups are saying. I believe House Moreno are going to try and bribe me in the next few weeks on an adjudication. Their Personal may approach you. That's often how it's done, and I've never had one to approach before. They may seize the opportunity." He leaned and kissed him softly. "You're doing well Gil."

In the eleventh hour, the last stretch of contract owed to Paul, when most men would have already clocked out and worked on auto pilot. Not Gil, and he could imagine that his coworkers wouldn't have been too surprised to see Gil striving to excel even in that. It didn't feel like it was almost over, because nothing ended that cleanly.

Nothing. From stab-wounds to kisses. Gil exhaled quietly, and didn't have to think about the faint smile that quirked his mouth. "Thank you. I'll... see to all of that, Master Paul."

The man nodded and gestured for him to go. He obviously was intending to work the room himself in his own fashion and that left Gil a little adrift, at least until the proposed 'entertainment'.

Gil hadn't asked if he was allowed to drink, but there were other Personals drinking, and one glass wasn't going to kill him. Wine, because he could handle that like it was juice, so Gil headed towards the refreshments table, walking slower now, taking in who was there and who their Personals were. He'd consider himself on his own for the rest of the night, and only keep half an eye on Paul in case something came up.

It wasn't that unlike various departmental functions he had been to, or conferences, just with that bit more of an edge. It became very obvious that as a novice to the group he was a novelty and people were interested in him and where he fitted into their complex hierarchy of status. He was low status as a Personal, but his Master was an Imperial Judge so no one particularly wanted to offend him. In some respects it was a fascinating interaction and kept him suitably distracted.

Up to the point that Kal-El moved towards him again. "Gil? Can we talk a moment?"

He smiled at the charming younger woman who'd been talking to him, and excused himself politely so he could turn and follow Kal-El. "Sure."

"Sorry about that. Um..." the young Meta looked a little discomfited. "Look, I just overheard what the theme is going to be, and they start off in about ten minutes. I wanted to talk with you about it."

There wasn't any reason for a Personal who was used to the Imperial Court to be unsettled, not that Gil could think of. It'd be like if he freaked out at a crime-scene while doing fingerprints. It should've been something Kal was used to, so... Concern was worth noting. "So, talk," Gil suggested easily.

"I'm worried about you. The theme is Capture. It's one of those that can get a bit rough..." He shrugged a little. "I... well I'm not sure what would be the best way out of it."

"Capture?" Gil repeated, taking a step backwards, towards a clearer space. "What's... the point of it? How are we supposed to do the theme 'capture'?"

"This is where we're expected to use our imagination." Kal replied. "I've had instances where the entire room attempted to capture me, for example, and after a suitably exciting resistance I allow myself to be caught and let them do what they wish. That might be more Imperial style. Here, they might do a chase and capture. They'll place equipment out that can be used."

"Uh-huh." Gil glanced at Kal for a moment, mouth thinning. Chase and capture. Equipment. What kind of sadist wanted to play 'capture' when it happened quite often enough in real life? Gil remembered vividly when his whole team had been abducted by House Braun, the feeling of knowing that running away wasn't going to do him a damned thing, but that standing and fighting would get him killed.

"Uh..." Gil shook his head slightly, trying hard to focus. "I'm not sure how..."

"It's happened to you?" Kal asked concerned. "That didn't look like a good memory."

"House Wars," Gil shrugged as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Look, uh... what can I do to help you?"

"It's more the other way around," Kal replied. "Would it be better then if you Captured me? Or vice versa?"

"I'm not a good enough actor to try to capture you. And, as you said, that might just be everyone else's idea of a good time." He turned slightly, trying to pick out the other Personals. "What do you think they'll be doing?"

"They'll either pair off, or one of them will try and capture the whole lot of the others and require them to do their bidding. But that won't be me. The symbolism is too... political. I'll capture you then, and defend you against all comers. I'll most likely have to take you... I swear I'll be as gentle as I can." Kal promised.

"I appreciate that." After all, it could be Ecklie. He had to work with the man when he harassed the department for the Sheriff. And Dominic, the Luthor Personal, looked small but... there was decidedly something off about him. Gil glanced back to Kal, forcing himself to nod as he talked. "I'm out of my league here."

"You could easily be in this league," Kal replied. "I do this for Bruce... not for any status, or power struggle. I do it because if I don't, he would be perceived as weak and thousands of people could be hurt or killed in a House War of people cashing in on that perception. Even so, he gives me leeway to make these sorts of decisions. You're going to struggle when you return to your normal life. There's something narcotic about being a Personal."

"There is." Gil scanned the room for Paul, eyes moving slowly. "I'm not naturally inclined to deal well with the living. This whole thing has been a fluke." And after tomorrow... was that it? Back to being Investigator Gil Grissom, and he'd only see Paul -- Judge Millander -- in court, and of course before court he'd be expected to act like he always had, like he hadn't spent a very intense week with Paul, like he...

Wasn't capable of falling in love fairly by accident. Or something. Falling in comfort.

"Do you have friends that will help you?" Kal asked very sincerely.

"They don't know I'm doing this. I'm on 'vacation', consulting on a case somewhere." If he thought about it, no wonder that Ecklie had seemed irked to see him there, doing that.

Paul was over to the far side, having a word with the host, and Gil watched him for a moment. Too far to read lips.

"Find someone you can talk to about this. It can…upset your balance," Kal replied even as Eiger came to the fore with his daughter.

"Thank you for attending this official function honoring my daughter's coming of age as my official Heir. I am pleased so many notables have honored me with their presence and welcomed her into the august levels of high society. In honor of this occasion and for our own pleasure, I would request the right of the host to have your Personals provide entertainment for our mutual pleasure. If the Masters present would like to withdraw to the seats provided, I have prepared suitable equipment for the theme of Capture. Would all the Personals please attend. You have a few minutes while the area is clear to discuss your options."

He could see Paul catch his eyes and give what looked like a thumbs up. That didn't go far for an assurance, but at least Paul seemed to trust him to keep his head above water. That was the best that Gil might be able to do, as the societal people moved to sit down, and the companions milled towards the clearing. 

"I've already noticed, but thank you."

The pair of them walked towards the gathering personal to find Dominic already putting forward his ideas. "... all of us on the alien. We did that at the Imperial court once and it was well received by the Emperor."

"Except the Emperor isn't here right now." Gil stopped at the edge of the somewhat clotted group, mindful that Kal was somewhere over there.

That got him a lot of attention. "Well, I understand that you're not even a proper trained Personal... so I'm not sure your opinion holds much weight."

"On the other hand I don't necessarily want to be your excuse for an easy time," Kal replied, standing there with his arms folded. "You have to do little work if that's your plan."

Kal's opinion had to hold some weight with them, so Gil fell quiet, hands at his side, watching them all. Some people were already starting to break off from paying attention to Dominic, talking among themselves by the time that Gil felt fingers on his still-hurt shoulder, pulling to turn him around.

"Hello, Grissom... Want to reconsider that offer now?" Ecklie asked with what he obviously thought was a pleasant smile.

"No?" Gil moved his opposite hand to grasp Ecklie's and brush it off of his jacket. "You're going to have to forgive me, Conrad, but I've already reached an agreement with someone else."

Ecklie laughed. "Sure you have, Gil." He plainly didn't believe it. "I'm good at capture… You might even enjoy it."

Gil gave him a feigned, easy-seeming smirk. "Is this some unfulfilled fantasy of yours, Conrad? Because I never suspected."

Ecklie was about to give him a snide response when Kal moved in behind him. "I will be… performing with Gil. If you're going ahead with a capture cascade and pitting all of you against me, you won't win."

"But then that means you'll have to and your Master won't like that," Dominic said with an assessing look. "Will he?"

"That's between my Master and myself," Kal replied. He glanced around. "Time's up."

"Do we head in any specific direction, or…?" If it was theatrical, there needed to be a cue, or a signal that they should start. Or maybe, from the look that Ecklie was giving him, he should just start running?

Kal leaned in close. "In a moment, they'll chime a bell or a gong or something. Then you try and evade, okay? Try and stay clear of the others but when I come after you feel free to pick up anything and hit me with it. Chairs, anything. It won't hurt me. If you try punching, don't hit with all your strength, you'll fracture your hand. Basically, you put up a convincing struggle, I'll catch you okay? I won't let one of the others get you, I promise that. Ready?"

No, but Gil still nodded, taking a step backwards, hands out of his pockets. "As much as I can be." Hopefully they wouldn't try to dog-pile Kal. If everyone thought they were catching someone else, then there was probably a lot of honest struggle about to go on.

"Personals, take your positions," Eiger announced and as he stepped back to sit with the other Masters a soft chime sounded and mayhem began. A good portion, egged on by Dominic made a beeline straight at Kal who grimaced and got swept away as he tried to disentangle himself without hurting anyone. That left Gil as an open target.

All he could do was evade, ducking behind a table for a moment and narrowly dodging past that charming young woman before she pounced 'catching' another handsome young man.

It was a sight to behold. She had him trussed up in a matter of moments, showing a great deal of skill. It was only a sheer fluke that he caught the movement of someone in the corner of his eye, trying to pounce at him.

Ecklie. It just had to be.

He twisted, turning on his heel to catch sight of Ecklie just as his hands came at him. Gil stepped back, stumbled, and snagged Ecklie's arm to divert what had probably been a move to grab him.

"Give in gracefully, Grissom," Ecklie told him trying to grapple for him. "You've picked the role, now play into it."

They hit the tile floor, and the shock of his head hitting the ground was enough to startle Gil into fighting back. "Like hell I will!" Ecklie got a hand around his throat, and Gil started to pry at it, before common sense or something like it kicked in, and he jerked his knee up to get Ecklie in the groin.

It was a direct hit and Gil took a little pleasure in having been able to do something in practice that he had mentally imagined in the past. Ecklie rather predictably let go and curled up a little and Gil dimly heard a round of applause that seemed to coincide with his scrambling to escape.

He got to his feet, looking around frantically to see if anyone else was coming, while he simultaneously tried to get away before Ecklie got himself standing again.

Kal was being liberally wound around with chains and bindings but he refused to be toppled. It was rather comedic to see Dominic take a running jump at him trying to kick him over and just bounce off as if he had kit a brick wall. The woman who had been pointed out as a Dominant Personal by Kal earlier, swooped on him as Kal flexed his arms and the chains snapped to another round of appreciative applause from the crowd. That seemed to shift the play dynamic and Kal turned scanning the room with theatrical slowness until he caught Gil's eyes, and then he smiled in a way that made his intentions very clear.

Whatever Kal had in mind for 'catch', it had to be better than what Ecklie did. Gil still evaded, dodging past people who were already starting to enjoy their 'catches', clothes being torn off, sounds of lesser struggle.

Every now and then there was some applause or exclamations from the watchers, or a shouted suggestion, but a lot of people were watching the way that Kal, without bothering to shed the broken bindings on him started to stalk towards him in a predatory fashion, speeding up gradually.

Gil was doing fine at evading until he tripped over an overturned chair.

Kal didn't say anything to start with, but with a blur of speed he was there over him and he winked as he bent towards him. "I dare you to use the chair," he murmured with a definite smile in his voice.

That was a little comforting, and sharply different than Ecklie's fingers digging into his neck. Gil twisted, grabbed at the chair that had tripped him, and wildly swung it at Kal's side.

He shouldn't have been surprised when it burst apart.

There was a definite round of applause at that spirited movement and Kal reached out and gripped him around the collar. "Fight, remember not to hurt yourself," he coached him as quietly as possible. "Then I'll bind you."

If he'd been in more of a game mood, Gil might have playfully fought back, like sparring with Jim. Except he didn't really want to be bound up or taken or anything else. He wanted to be back home, or at Paul's, or somewhere, anywhere but there. It was easy for Gil to struggle against Kal, a hand going into loose black waves of hair to try to shove him back while Gil simultaneously tried to struggle free.

Kal's expression shifted a little, guilt already there as he picked up on Gil's real resistance. It didn't stop him taking the bindings that had draped off of him and securing his 'captive'. "I'm ...I'm sorry Gil..." he whispered. "Please, relax."

"Trying." Kal was tying chains around Gil's wrists like they were string, and he tried not to jerk or test them because they were chains over top of his cuffs and his shirt and jacket sleeves.

He was pushed down a moment, and Kal had one arm under him to surreptitiously cushion the fall although it looked dramatic. Warm, surprising gentle hands were over his body and turning him so he could be kissed.

Unexpected, at least for Gil. Kal kissed like... no one else, but it probably had something to do with all of those jewel increments on his cuffs. Gil just needed to relax, make himself relax, and that worked paradoxically well for him. He couldn't move his hands, and struggling at that point was futile. 

Kal was over him like a protective wall, shielding him from the chaos around them and deliberately languorous and unhurried about what he was doing. His kisses at the very least rivaled Lady Heather's and he touched him almost tenderly, which was odd considering how powerful he was and that they were effectively strangers. 

The first motions at removing his pants were disguised by more passionate kisses, more touches that slid down to reach for him there. Tied up and face first looking up at Kal wasn't so bad, even if he'd only chosen it because not to choose was to have the choice made for him. 

Gil's sleekly cut pants came off with ease from Kal's pulling, and the jacket and shirt he still had on made him feel twice as naked as he really was. 

The knowledge that he could be used as roughly as some of the others were apparently being used -- or it might have been some overacting -- also encouraged a feeling of vulnerability. There was also the concern about whether Kal would just take him dry or if he was significantly different down there.... which was a speculation answered when Kal slipped off his own pants.

And apparently no self respecting Personal went anywhere without lube.

It was probably something they all knew to do, but Gil hadn't even expected anything like that, hadn't expected that public sex with a complete stranger was going to happen. Gil twisted, lifted his wrists a little to press against Kal's chest.

"You okay?" Kal murmured as he dipped to seemingly nuzzle at him, even as slick fingers stroked up behind his balls, and in towards his ass.

"Fine." There wasn't any denying that Kal's fingers knew what they were doing, when they pushed into him and curled in to hook against his prostate. It might've been easier to handle if it hadn't made him gasp because it actually felt good.

"That's it... make as much noise as you want," Kal replied teasing him blatantly, even as he went to work on his body with his lips as he fingered his ass.

Kisses just underneath his collar, above the collar of his shirt, sucking, nipping, leaving Gil to twist and squirm against the floor, pinned in more ways than just body against the floor. "Fuck."

Kal smiled at him; that astonishing smile that was enough to make anyone believe in angels and pushed Gil's legs up to gain access, even as his arms moved underneath and lifted him to press against him. "It'll look like I'm forcing you onto myself," he murmured again. "Work yourself down, moving as best you can."

No human could have held him like that and then lifted them at an impossible angle. The ground had somehow vanished.

Legs loose around Kal's hips, almost bent in half, no ground beneath him, hands and arms bound tight in front of him and Gil was supposed to work himself down? "Can't... Fuck, trying." Gil kept his voice quiet, trying to move onto the intrusion that was the head of Kal's dick.

They tipped so gravity was on his side and the bending that was folding Gil in two relaxed now, the tip of the Meta's cock pushed in and Kal was holding him into his body. It seemed to work as Kal made a noise of pleasure as they moved into a better position. Gil struggled on a breath, exhaled sharply, and tried not to use his bound arms to push back on Kal, because that was his full range of motion just then. It was going to take him a moment to get used to the feeling of being fucked, the full cockhead lodged into him when he was tense and under prepared. At least Kal was slick, so when he moved it didn't ache too sharply.

"Easy... easy..." Kal murmured to him as they floated up. "We're doing good." It was soft encouragement that Kal seemed to hide in kisses.

Just keep breathing, and let Kal thrust and know that he was a passive participant at best, that he just had to take it and... They were floating? They were... Gil closed his eyes and dug his fingers into the material of Kal's shirt, clutching to steady himself.

There was nothing but his steady movements, and murmurs of encouragement and strangely a hint of moisture against his cheek when he brushed in close. Whatever it was, it didn't stop what he was doing.

Thrust and thrust and thrust, and... Gil was hard against Kal's stomach, and it took all his concentration to open his eyes to look up at Kal's face. His own eyes weren't focusing properly, too close to Kal until a shift before another thrust made Kal move back a little, enough for Gil to see dampness in Kal's eyes. His fingers clutched again, brain trying to catch at the implications of that.

Kal didn't want to be there anymore than Gil did.

There was one difference. Gil would be going home tomorrow, but Kal would be there for the rest of life.

The Meta pushed with a little more vigor then in their impossible midair fuck. It ached, and for a moment, Gil was sure his erection was flagging towards half-hard or soft. But Kal was good, getting the angle right, hitting Gil's prostate. He strangled a whimpering sound, eyes still watching Kal, fingers still clutching at Kal's shirt with what grip he could muster, and one more thrust pushed him over the edge, made him come with a shiver that snapped his muscles tight and spilled a few strings of semen between them.

Kal thrust a few more times before coming inside him, startling and hot in his ass. Then he gently lowered them to the ground where there was a welcome committee waiting for them all.

It seemed there had been some power plays going on and they were the only ones that were not part of the main group that had come together.

They were only on the ground for a moment, Kal pulling out of him and getting to his knees while Gil tried to get his bearings, using his hands to push himself up sitting. They were being crowded in on with nowhere to draw back to because 'welcoming committee' might as well have meant a gang fight between unclaimed illegal on the bad side of town.

"Take them." Dominic's voice, from the back of the tight cluster. Gil should have been surprised that when he looked to one side, he saw Ecklie, and he was less surprised when Ecklie stepped on the hand he'd been about to lift.

"You will leave him alone." Kal practically growled. Ecklie was lifted up by his shirt and very firmly pushed back. "I caught him, he is mine to do with as I wish."

Ecklie being pushed back made the others step back, wary now, because of Kal. Maybe they hadn't expected that in the game. Gil cradled his left hand against his chest and got to his feet. He was tense, but that might help -- if a clearing opened, he was ready to make a real run for it. The game still couldn't be going on, could it? Winding up to a climax from the looks of it. The onlookers were silent.

The line of others twitched forward and Kal held up a hand. "Don't. Just don't. Most of you don't know what you're dealing with. Don't force my hand."

"Rush him," Dominic pressed, moving forwards. "Rush him and catch him."

"You never learn Dominic." Never the less he waited until they did rush and then he moved. And he moved with a speed so fast it could not be seen. Grissom barely had time to blink before Kal was standing next to him again and every single other Personal in the room was linked chain to chain to one final one which he held in his hand.

Which he then very deliberately dropped, turned his back on them all, and turned towards Gil.

"Hold out your hands."

Gil did, without hesitance. Part of him was aware that he was standing, clearly visible to the still seated masters at the other side of the room, in just his shirt and jacket, bare footed and without pants. The other part of him said that at least he had his dignity standing there, unlike when he'd been being fucked. 

Kal effortlessly snapped the chains on him, and then went one step further. He removed Gil's cuffs, which usually needed the strength of an unlocker to part them, and his collar and presented them to him as he took one final kiss. "Now you choose where you want to go. For the sake of politics, probably back to your Master. I'll have shocked them enough with all of that."

Indeed, a brief glance at Lionel Luthor showed clear anger.

"Thank you, Gil." The alien's voice sounded genuinely sad as he stood straight himself.

Gil hesitated for a moment, staring at what Kal had put into his hands, and then looked back up to Kal again. "Thank you." He turned then, had to, and walked unsteadily but pointedly back towards Paul. No point in stopping to see if he could scrounge up his pants, because someone was probably standing on them. And his shoes. It didn't matter, and there was no reason for Gil to be ashamed.

He kept his head high as he looked to Paul.

To his left, Kal was doing the same to Bruce, immediately slipping into a perfect kneeling supplication that had a few of the more emotional romantics of the Masters and Freemen choked up.

Paul stood to greet him, smiling and surprisingly emotional in his expression. "Gil..."

"Could... c-could you...?" Gil knelt, not smoothly, and offered Paul his cuffs and the collar. He wished he'd been acting, but he'd had that flashing moment of fear when Kal had taken his cuffs off. It wasn't... just wasn't done.

"I'd be honored," Paul replied almost reverentially slipped them on and clicked them shut, and then clicked the collar back on before the place erupted into wild applause. Obviously it was considered to be a successful entertainment.

High society was deeply beyond Gil's fathom. He closed his eyes, drooping a little before he leaned forwards and wrapped an arm around Paul's legs, resting against him like he was a shield against the insanity of the people who were clapping.

"We'll go home..." Paul leant over and murmured to him, his hand in his hair. He must have gestured for someone to bring him Gil's pants and shoes from somewhere and the leash because after a few minutes they turned up. "Put them on again, Gil."

That meant standing up, but he kept a hand on Paul to steady himself until he was standing, breathing slow, concentrating. His fingers fumbled a little, his left hand blooming with a bruise already, and but he managed, and managed to get his shoes on. Paul had the leash, and he'd put it on Gil because he was in control.

Gil didn't care, as long as he could go home. Crawl into bed and not think and just... Go home with Paul. Home was supposed to be his cluttered apartment, not Paul's house.

Home was where the comfort was, and right now that was with Paul. At least until tomorrow and the return to a normal life.

* * *

Greg wondered if all suspects crumpled so perfectly when faced with a correct theory about the how of the whodunit. It was like something from a movie, when the Imperial Guard leaned forwards in thin lighting that tinted the room blue and shouted at the suspect until they broke down. Except Nick hadn't even had to shout, and Greg had gotten to tell the man and his lawyer-wife just how shit had gone down.

It felt great. It felt like being on top of the world.

He still felt like he needed to take a nap to go with his pain pills, but sitting in a booth at the sub shop while Nick stood in line to get the team's lunch was going to be a pretty good break for him still being on the clock.

If his legs weren't still aching like some bastard had kicked the shit out of him and then beat him with an iron bar, he would've had a bounce in his step. Grissom had been right, Catherine, too.

There was nothing quite like closing a case.

The closing-up meant that he and Nick had been volunteered for the lunch run for the department as Catherine had all cases assigned and was desperately waging war on Grissom's paperwork so he didn't come back to a mountain. There was one small problem. He did keep trying to do too much and every now and then had to give in to the fact he was not recovered by a long shot.

"Nicky... Nick. Hold up a minute?"

Nick slowed appropriately as they rounded the corner of the gaudily lit block. Finding parking has been rough, and Greg hadn't been expecting to have to walk that far to the sub shop. All the usual parking had been taken up by Overflow Valet at the Bellagio. "Sorry, man. You okay?"

"My leg wants to cramp or some shit like that," Greg muttered. And he was waiting to eat before he had his next batch of magic pills. Doc Robbins was pretty strict with them. "Hey, is that a big party letting out or something?"

"At this time of the morning? It's three, man," Nick murmured, stopping beside Greg and putting a hand on his back. "Hell of a party. Just stand here with me until your leg loosens up, cool? It's not like the sub shop ever closes and we have to race the clock."

Greg grinned a little at that. "I'm gonna put on weight with all this food I'm eating." He leaned down and massaged his leg and glanced up at some of the guests coming out. "Personals. Must be a House function or something."

"Great." Nick rolled his eyes a little, and patted Greg's shoulder gently to urge him back closer to the building. "I could go the rest of my life and happily never hear about another Personal."

Greg started walking and then just stopped, making Nick bump into him. "I know I'm on painkillers and I've taken a few knocks but am I hallucinating what I'm seeing?"

Nick's head jerked up, and he looked sideways and across towards the Bellagio. "I, uh... where're you looking?"

"There..." Greg could clearly see Grissom coming out of the building, which would have been odd under any circumstances, but the leash, and the glittering collar of a personal tripped into the realms of the completely surreal. "Grissom. Grissom with a Personal Collar. Grissom."

"No way..." He could tell when Nick saw it, too, because he stiffened. Greg's eyes drifted, taking in the person who was holding the leash without having to use it. Dark hair combed back from his face, a lean man, and when they passed under a brighter light, Greg could see the colors of a judge.

"Holy shit, that's Judge Millander..."

Instinctively, Greg stepped back into the deeper shadows pulling Nick with him. "What's Grissom doing as a Judge's Personal? He's meant to be on vacation!"

"Hell of a vacation," Nick murmured as he leaned in against Greg. They were coming that way, heading towards the Ford Mustang that Greg could see had Court parking tags. Grissom didn't seem reluctant or distracted or anything else to be there, now that Greg could see him almost face-on. He was keeping close to the Judge, his bowlegged step looking unsteady and tired.

Greg stared and shook his head. "Something definitely hinky here. I mean, he drops out in the middle of a high profile case -- he never does that -- and he's being a Personal? Griss doesn't even know how to be a Personal."

It didn't make sense. After all, as far as Greg had ever seen, Grissom didn't even date people. But that was an Imperial Judge that he was walking with, and not one of the ones that just called at Fights. Walking with and leaning close to him, as they headed unerringly towards the Ford Mustang that was parked just a little down from them.

"Shh."

Greg leaned into Nick, using his comparative bulk as a very useful -- and rather fit -- human shield. He was boggling mentally to himself. Gil on a leash? This was like finding out that the laws of physics were optional.

Except there it was. It was like throwing an apple into the air and watching it hover instead of having it fall down. They walked to the passenger side of the car, and the Judge leaned in to Grissom, unhooking the leash from his collar. If Gil so much as scanned the area, he'd see them, so Greg felt a little relief that Gil's eyes were trained on the Judge.

"I wasn't expecting such an... intense entertainment, Gil," Millander was telling him, his hand unmistakably stroking at the back of Grissom's head. "I won't make further demands of you before you return to Lady Heather's tomorrow."

Nick went a little stiff, still shielding Greg, but otherwise stayed as still as he would if there were a sniper out there with sights set on shooting them both down. Lady Heather's? Lady Heather who lost a Personal in the case they'd just wrapped up?

"I..." Gil leaned in, followed pressure of the hand at the back of his head, and slumped in against the Judge despite that the man was pulling open the passenger side door.

"It's okay, Gil, it's okay... you did well," Judge Millander, scourge of Houses great and small enveloped their Supervisor in a surprisingly tender embrace and held him close for a long moment. "You've done well. Your goal has been achieved, and mine, too."

Greg felt uncomfortable watching it, watching Grissom move a hand to clutch back a little, unsure. He made a noise, but Greg hadn't ever heard that noise from Grissom, and it was hard to guess what it was because neither of them could see his face.

"Don't... know if I want to go back..."

"Shhh, shhh..." Millander held him, oddly tender. "If I thought you were serious, I'd keep you. But it's reaction, Gil. To tonight. That's why they do these things."

Gil gave a jerky nod against the Judge's neck. After that, it seemed easy for the Judge to coax Gil into the passenger seat of the car. "I, I've been thinking it before, just..."

Whatever else he was saying was cut off as the car door shut, and the engine started. 

Greg just stared. "I think I need to sit down."

Nick shifted, keeping Greg still until the car pulled off. They could see Grissom slouch a little in the passenger side seat, but they were quickly too far away for Greg to see anything. That meant it was safe to at least talk.

"Greg... You remember when I mentioned that guy, at Lady Heather's?"

"Yeah?" Greg looked at him, wide eyed. His world had no foundations left to rock. First the Challenge, then this. Gil was like... a bedrock. He could always rely on Grissom to be Grissom and now even that was different. He blinked a little as his head tried to put together what Nick was implying. "Are you trying to say…?"

Greg could see Nick exhale, turning his back to the people still coming out of the party, the action on the street, the traffic. "Well, it... it was Grissom. I just didn't want to say anything."

"Fuck." Greg was just staring at him now. "The one we were teasing you about? Was... Grissom? But this doesn't make sense, Nick! None of it. I would know if he was into that sort of deal. He's not, I'd swear to it."

"Then what the hell did we just see, Greg?" Nick turned, looked over his shoulder at the empty parking space. "Look, just... let's get the food, and, uh, figure it out in the car...?"

"Okay," Greg responded automatically, his mind already flitting here and there over his thoughts.

He remained reasonably silent as they got the order that'd been phoned through and was waiting for them, but all the while he was chasing ideas and connections around his head, noting he was chewing on his lip absently as he did so. 

A goal meant there was a reason; the Judge had implied a time limit and giving him back. Nick had seen him at Lady Heather's and she didn't just service client needs, her main task was to train Personals. He knew she did that for House Braun. Grissom wasn't likely to spend pay-out credit on something like that. Well. He didn't think so.

He just... didn't strike Greg as the type. Gil Grissom struck Greg maybe, if anything, as the kind of guy who'd be on the other side of the equation. But if it was some kind of trade thing, and both Grissom and the Judge got something out of it. So, what would a Judge get out of having Grissom as a personal, and what would Grissom get out of being a personal to a Judge? And what had happened in that party that had Gil in that state?

"Hey, Greg? I got you a Dr. Pepper." Nick held it out to him, other hand loaded down with the two bags that had subs in them for the department. 

"Thanks," Greg replied taking them absently. A rather nasty suspicion was growing his mind and it made him uneasy and gave a sick guilty feeling. It was just a thought, but. "Nick, this is weird, but I think Grissom was paying off something by being a Personal. I think what you saw? I think that was training, not... you know, recreation. I've done that. It's part of the sort of set up. I just can't figure what the deal was."

A mild lie. He had an idea. He just had no evidence for it, and Nick and everyone else he worked with were all about the evidence.

Nick waited for him to get to his feet again, ready to walk back to Nick's SUV. "Wait. You've done... training like that?" It was funny how Nick was weirded out by it, but the moment that it was Greg or Grissom, weirded went to worried.

"Wesker's version of it. Rougher version. How do you think I knew about the stuff? You were the one saying you thought I'd been sexually abused," Greg replied shrugging his shoulders. "Night before, I spent the time like that, that's why I was inhaling coffee."

Nick exhaled shakily. "Okay. Okay, so... You'll probably understand it better'n me, then. So why do you say that Grissom's... not like that?"

"No, he's not," Greg replied. "At least not until this past week. And the Judge said... something about both of their goals. Well, if Grissom's goal wasn't to be a Personal for a week, what was it? What goal could he be getting off of the Judge?"

"Payment to his debt?" Nick shrugged his shoulders. It was worth noticing for Greg that Nick was keeping him between him and the wall when they walked, faintly protective. "What could a Judge like that... I mean, Judge Millander is something else even among Judges, Greg. I've testified before him, on a case with Grissom. The people who aren't shitting their pants because they're in a room with him are kissing ass. He's a scary hardass in court. Sneeze and off with your head, you know? And Grissom used to joke around with him before Court opened."

"Maybe... the guy wanted Grissom," Greg mused. He smiled a little. "I mean, who wouldn't? If he didn't put out the 'keep distant' vibe. Maybe he stood out from a bunch of kiss-asses and took the Judge's fancy. But how would that tie in with something that Grissom wanted? That's what I don't get. I can see a way... like Millander wanting him, or Grissom wanting a favor, but I can't see how they cross over in the middle."

"I... wow, never want to think about Judge Millander wanting anyone as a Personal." Nick exhaled a little shakily after he said that. "So... What could a Judge do for Grissom?"

"A ruling maybe? Or..." Greg shook his head. "See that's stupid because Millander deals with House stuff right? And Grissom doesn't have much say in House stuff, that would be someone like Sam Braun or his Heirs and...."

Greg stopped for a moment, trailing off when he felt things click into place. Lady Heather, a specialist contractor for House Braun. Someone with the clout to pull Grissom from a case. Someone who might want to get on the good side of a House adjudication specialist...

"So, maybe Sam Braun kind of... did a middle man thing?" Nick theorized as he stopped beside the car and fished for his keys.

"Grissom wanted something, went to him. Millander wanted Grissom..." Greg replied. "And Sam gets the good will of a Imperial judge by fulfilling both favors? Only... what did Grissom want?" Come on, he couldn't avoid it. It was sitting there like a hulking great big coincidence. But maybe it was just him drawing inexpert conclusions. Nick was more experienced, maybe he could see something he couldn't.

Nick was quiet while he unlocked the doors and got in. He waited until Greg had hauled himself up, and was buckled in before he passed the sandwiches over to Greg to keep at his feet so why wouldn't roll around in the back. Then he cranked over the engine. "Well, uh..."

Well, Nick saw the elephant, too, apparently.

Greg was silent. "The Challenge. He's done it for the Challenge." Guilt and gratitude mingle and he felt distinctly uncomfortable. "Tell me I'm wrong. Because, you know, I could be, right? There could have been something else."

But nothing that fit the evidence.

"Grissom... has been in House Braun for sixteen something years, you know? He'll probably never get himself paid off. It could... be for that, maybe?" Nick twisted for a moment, looking back over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot.

Greg shook his head. "He's not that desperate to payoff."

Grissom was like that because of him? Had he entered into it blindly and then it turned into a nightmare? Was this going to be the sort of thing where he would look at Greg and always regret?

"No, probably not." Nick shook his head as he pulled out into traffic. "So, you think he...? For the Challenge?"

"I... can't think of anything else," Greg replied. "Grissom get pulled out of a case, goes to be a Personal for Judge Millander and the only major event is that House Braun declares a Challenge? They could have done that before if it were a coincidence. Plenty of opportunity."

"Right, right..." Nick trailed off, looking thoughtful and keeping his eyes on the road. "But... why?"

"Why would he do it?" Greg struggled with that one. Truthfully, he had no idea. He was confused enough by Nick's support, though knowing Nick was attracted to him gave him some context to work with to make sense. But Grissom? He mostly irritated and sometimes amused Grissom. He performed his lab tech tricks and reveled in the infrequent, 'Well done, Greg,' or 'Good work'. This was scarcely a foundation to draw a solid conclusion from. "I... don't know."

"There had to be another way to get you challenged for..." Nick glanced sideways at Greg. "Not sure what... is there anything we can do?"

"I'll talk to him when he's back." Brave the lion in his den. "I mean, I have to know right?"

Otherwise he was going to feel sick and guilty forever. The fact that the Challenge had nearly gotten him killed didn't even enter his thoughts. Just… Gil telling him that it was going to be okay, or that it was going to work out, or whatever it was Gil had told him a couple of times before, bam, he'd disappeared right in the middle of the case. So, Grissom had known even then what was going to go down, he had to have. And he'd still been nice to Greg, really spectacularly nice to him. 

Even though he knew he was going to end up as someone's Personal Bond-Slave for a week, just so Greg could be challenged for.

"Look, I… He told me it was an Imperial court matter. I've never caught Grissom in a lie before, but if he's lying to cover his tracks, I'd guess he never wanted us to find out." Why would he? Greg had been pretty horrified that the night shift had found him naked and beaten up by Rhino, so it had to be comparable on some level to being caught selling yourself to a Judge to get Greg Challenged for. "And I can't even begin to understand that conversation he was having with the Judge."

"Yeah, well, I can," Greg muttered. There were times when he wondered if he was really so hopelessly different to his new Housemates and friends that he would never adjust. "And that wasn't a lie. Technically, it was an Imperial court matter. In both ways. With Millander and with the Challenge."

"But if we press and ask questions... then it'd become a lie, you see?" Nick trailed off, eying Greg. "So, I'm not sure what to do. And Grissom was... saying things like he didn't want to come back and...."

"Nick, the whole Personal thing? If it's not your deal, it fucks with your head," Greg replied. "Really screws it over. It's like a headspace where, hell... like it makes you an agoraphobic in your own head. I understand it, because I'm like that. You just don't know how messed up I really am."

"Greg... stop emphasizing the messed up part and -- I mean, life's going to get better for you. And maybe if I can figure it out, I can help." Nick kept his eyes on the road, but he was gesturing on hand a little vaguely while he talked. "Can you explain this headspace stuff to me?"

"I can try but it's kinda something you have to experience to really get." Greg was willing to bet that Grissom had maybe thought about it intellectually and been totally unprepared for the reality. "You know those Sociology lectures everyone gets about how the natural ambition of human being is to free themselves and then take charge of their own destiny? Remember those? Well that's pretty much bullshit. Yeah, a lot of people want that, but what are the statistics? How many people actually pay off out of a population? There's a reason for that... there's security in being a Bond-Slave if you're in a decent house."

And Gil had told him as much, when they'd been driving to the body dump. He wasn't too concerned about buying himself free a second time because he'd been there, done that, and apparently it wasn't that appealing. Or something. He'd been vague, but the impression Greg had gotten had been pretty clear.

"Well, yeah, there is," Nick admitted.

"Right, well, you've got the Masters at one end of the societal spectrum, and at the other you have the Personals. They have no responsibility except to one person. They have an emotional freedom demanded of them. They're put in a position where everything about their lives can be controlled, their bodies, their feelings... everything. And it's like a drug," Greg said. "Like... having no choice but to do stuff. Things become more intense."

He was bad at explaining this, but he was trying.

"Okay, but I've... I mean, most of the personals I've met are... Well, you've met Ecklie, the Sheriff's Personal, right? If he's being controlled, I'm scared of what he's like normally," Nick joked a little. "But... so what you're saying is that it's kind of addictive?"

"Yeah. Look, even Ecklie... You know if you screw up, Grissom will step in? Imagine that on a much more intense level. Ecklie can throw his weight around because he belongs to the Sheriff. No one else can touch him, as long as he give complete obedience to him." Greg swallowed. "Nick, I can't even begin to tell you what it can do to your head when your... like with the case, when your air is controlled by someone else. Your food, your pleasure, your emotions. It's not just about the job stuff. It's everything. Everything gets stripped away and the Master? They're the only one left. Done for the good, it's a rush like you wouldn't believe."

"And done for the bad..." Nick trailed off. "Exact opposite? You have that much control over someone and abuse it... There's nothing they can do to stop you." Like that last case. Like Greg, too, because he hadn't even known how different House Wesker really was from House Braun. It was a whole other ball game. 

"At least it's only been a week, right? And Judge Millander... Not my kinda guy, but he's supposed to be upstanding..." Nick was working through, making excuses why Grissom would be fine because he kind of had to be okay. The lab needed their supervisor.

"It won't have been what Griss was expecting," Greg sighed. "Done for the bad, Nick, you end up like me. I can't explain some of the shit I do. It happens. Even when it's bad, you half want it."

"Greg, I haven't seen you do any weird shit. Everyone has quirks, okay?" Nick moved a hand from the steering wheel, and squeezed Greg's leg gently, his good one. "But... what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. I get what you're saying, I really do. But I spent my whole time trying to make sure all of you didn't find out what was really going on, and I can't help but think how that could have turned out," Greg said

"They probably would have killed you eventually," Nick murmured. His fingers squeezed a little. "And I'm glad they didn't get to. And you don't have to hide anything anymore."

"You don't get it, Nicky, and I'm glad you don't," Greg looked at him. "I never really chose to hide it. It's something built in you know? Everything tied up in knots. You tell me that you haven't wondered why I just didn't... call Challenge, or run, or... something. You get in the headspace of being out of control and get stuck there. That's what's happened to Grissom. You're right, it's only a week, but..."

A week could be a lot. Twenty-four seven, seven days, that was all the time it took to break someone. If Gil had done something at the party to impress the Judge, but then had been clinging to him afterwards... It was a fair bet as far as Greg was concerned that it was something he hadn't wanted to do.

"Do you think anyone else knows? Brass, or Catherine?"

"Out of all of us, if anyone has the inside track it will be one of those two," Greg agreed. "We could, uh, ask?"

No, the sick guilt hadn't faded; if Gil came back to work all weird... it was his fault, kind of. In a vague way that Greg knew probably made sense only to him. "Ask. That, uh... Hell, why not. I could give it a shot, right? And Grissom's gonna be back tomorrow, so..."

"I won't say anything until you talk to them," Greg said after a while. "But I gotta know, Nick."

Because possibly he was the only one out of all of them that might understand exactly what that sacrifice might have cost Grissom

"I get that. I do. No sure what... kind of difference it makes. I mean... This is it, right? It's just a week? It's not like Griss'd do it again..." Hopeful again, and Nick had to know he sounded like that as he eased off of the acceleration so they could turn into the department's parking lot.

"I don't know Nick," Greg had to admit. For the right person he would and Greg knew it, but Nick seemed freaked by the whole idea and he didn't want to ruin things already.

"Neither do I." Nick sighed, and pulled into a parking spot. Hell, if the Judge wanted to, he could probably get Gil to agree not to go back -- at least with the head-space Gil was in. Nick didn't need to know that, either.

"One thing I do know is you can't make that sort of decision when you're in that space, so..." Greg shrugged. "If he didn't come back, I'd want to go talk to him."

"Yeah, but that's just..." Nick shook his head as he put the vehicle into park. "Impossible, you know? Grissom loves the lab."

Greg nodded, not wanting to disillusion Nick. Even someone being intentionally unpleasant could have a profound effect; someone who showed genuine affection or caring in the same relationship equation was like fanning a spark with pure oxygen rather than air. He'd had it once or twice and he'd been practically intoxicated with the process.

He didn't want that to happen to Grissom. Not unless he really chose it of his own free will. If he did, then who was he to stop him?

* * *

The thought wouldn't leave him alone. Nick seemed pretty happy to let it drift but Greg kept having sort of panicking feelings that if something wasn't done immediately then things might go really wrong.

So, while Nick was talking to Warrick, he screwed up his courage and knocked on Grissom's office door to speak to Catherine. He just had no idea how to actually do that. Did he go for it, and just say it outright, or did he kind of feel the waters and pretend that he was actually a good Investigator who could figure out what she was saying and wasn't saying? 

"Come in!"

"Uh, hey Catherine," he stood there a moment, before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His eloquence wasn't going to win prizes, he could tell that. "Um..."

"Greg? Hey, come in, close the door. What's on your mind?" She put down her pen, and seemed to shove the paperwork into a pile with some kind of relief. "Can you believe this place? He had un-filed paperwork in a *drawer*."

Greg grinned a little. "I can believe that. Uh, look it's about Grissom." He might as well come out with it. "There's... look there's something weird about this vacation deal."

"It's not a vacation, actually," Catherine started. She leaned back in the chair, and crossed her legs at the knee. It was a pretty, delicate kind of motion, but a defensive motion. Grissom had told him that. "Sam Braun sent him away for a week on an Imperial Court matter."

He glanced up as she confirmed the Sam Braun connection. "To Judge Millander?"

She looked at him, started to open her mouth, and then closed it again, face shifting into a bewildered expression. "Okay, and how did you find that out?"

"So you do know what's going on." Greg limped a little bit closer. "I've gotta know one thing... is what's going on because of the Challenge?" He glossed over the fact he knew no details and implied them instead.

Catherine kept shaking her head. "You know, Greg, I wondered why Gil would do it. I guess he thought you were a better Investigator than the rest of us could see. And it... none of the rest of us really knew what was going on with you, Greg."

"So that's a yes, right?" Greg said gripping the back of the chair he was standing next to and pretty much dismissing and avoiding references to his situation. "Yes, he's been Judge Millander's Personal because of the Challenge?" It was a theory with no evidence but Catherine didn't know that.

"The only loser in the whole deal... is Gil," she murmured, watching him. "You're in a good house. Sam Braun... gets a DNA tech and aspiring Investigator for next to nothing, his cheapest acquisition of an Investigator since he toppled House Gerard, and he gets the favor of a very influential Imperial Judge. Judge Millander... gets Gil."

And Gil got fucked. Over.

Greg stared at her for a moment and then dropped his gaze, feeling suddenly and terribly responsible. "Why? Why would he do that... I mean, he doesn't even like me that much?"

"Yeah, he does. Greg, you've got to get used to this. We're his family, and like it or not, if someone asked him to take the skin off of his back if it would save one of us? He'd do it. He lost the people he grew up with, he lost his mentor, he lost his freedom. I... can't even imagine what that's like. So he's made this lab his, and he probably sees it as his holy duty to see that we're all okay." Catherine shifted, leaned forwards a little more. "Tell me what you saw. Millander's supposed to return Gil without any permanent injuries."

"Nicky and I saw him come out of some big party with Millander," Greg answered slowly. "He didn't see us, but he was shaky and... clingy...."

Such an amazing word to use in conjunction with Grissom.

"And he said something about not wanting to go back and he was... kinda emotional." He winced as he said that.

"Oh." Catherine exhaled. "Physically fine? Did you hear Millander say anything? Was he limping, bleeding...?" She jumped right into it, going for apparently the heart of the matter like the Investigator that she was.

"He was..." Greg had to call up the image. "He was moving a little carefully if you know what I mean and... favoring his right hand." That was all he could dredge up.

He wished that he could remember more, just because Catherine was studying him. "And how was Judge Millander acting? Did it look like he'd hurt Grissom?"

"He looked like he was taking care of him," Greg had to admit. "I don't know what to do, Catherine."

"That makes two of us." Her eyebrows went up, faint frustration as she gestured for him to sit down. "Or three of us, since I don't think Nick knows what to do any more than the rest of us. Sam seemed to think that it'd be as easy as Gil coming back to work for tonight's shift like nothing happened. But that... depends on what the Judge has done, doesn't it?"

"Look, I was trying to explain to Nick about what it can do to you, and first he looked freaked that I knew and then he just... didn't get it," Greg tried explaining. "Grissom will need someone there or he'll get stuck in that headspace." 

Just like he had, but he had years worth of reinforcement not a week. But he was hoping Catherine was a little more flexible in her understanding of things sexual and their impact than Nick. Not that Nick was intolerant, but even being open minded, he couldn't connect to the situation.

"Greg, I know that. There's a reason why Personals aren't known for career changes, and that we refer victims for help as part of our job. But I was thinking..." She waved a pen slightly, and then tapped it against her chin. "The Judge himself. He's pretty well known for going outside of the bounds of a case, and not letting things drop. If he ends it clean, it'll be easier to get Gil back to himself. If not..."

"He said Gil was going back. It was Grissom who said otherwise," Greg looked at her, unable to shake the worry. "You know Griss better than most of us. He'll be more affected by this then he'll ever say. And I just... can't think of anything worse for him to go home to an empty place after a week of being a Personal. You don't know what that could be like."

The edges of her mouth twitched. "Greg? There are things comparable to it. Any bad breakup ever, particularly if you're the dumpee. I'm sure it leads to all sorts of stupid things, like some version of breakup sex and..." Catherine sighed. "If it were anyone else, I'd suggest breaking into his apartment and waiting for him."

"It's not quite the same," Greg replied. "I could. I mean, I'm in the same building now. I could go down there and wait? Or maybe he might get weird with me because of what's happened to him."

"I can't see it hurting things any, Greg." Catherine tapped the pen for a moment, and then grabbed a clean sheet of paper. "Look, when he gets in and you get the chance, call my cell."

"You want me to go down there?" Greg asked. "Or do you want to know so you can?"

She leaned forwards to hand him the piece of paper, mouth hovering near a smirk. "Both."

"Thanks... I'll do that," Greg replied taking it. "I'll let Nick off being my watchdog tonight." He pocketed the paper and moved to step away. "I'll try not to screw up."

"You'll be fine. Just... don't insult the bug collection." Catherine was still smirking somehow, as if that would ease off the seriousness of what they were talking about.

"Hey, I know better than that. He'd feed me to them," Greg replied, glancing around and seeing Nick outside. "Uh, I'll talk to you later."

"Good luck." 

Yeah. Good Luck. He was going to need it with Nick looking confused and conflicted like that. "Hey, Greg? Brass needs us to sign some stuff about the guy's confession."

"Okay," Greg nodded "And... uh, you mind dropping me off this morning? I can get a taxi if you'd rather not. I just thought I'd drop in on my neighbor, y'know?"

"Yeah? You, uh, know where your medications are, right? And you'll be careful with your leg?" Nick started to walk down the hall with him, and the faint anxiousness on his face was endearing. "I'll drop you off, no problem."

Greg smiled. He was going to miss having Nick there. In fact he was pretty scared of not having Nick there and he might actually have to try and sleep alone.

The stuff with Grissom was more important.

"I know, Nicky. Thanks. I promise I'll take everything. My back gives me on the hour reminders about the need for meds."

"Okay. And call me if you don't need a ride in tonight? Because I'll be by around nine otherwise. Which reminds me that we've gotta get you driving lessons, man."

"Driving lessons?" Warrick was stepping out of one of the workrooms, and greeted them both with a wide grin. "Who's getting driving lessons?"

Greg raised a hand. "That would be me. Sometime. If Nick thinks I'm safe on the road."

He got a grin from Warrick. "Nah, you'll be fine. If they let Nick drive like somebody's granny, you'll be fine on the road."

"'Rick, I do not drive like someone's grandmother. Just because I go the speed limit--" Warrick broke in with a snort.

"Sure, sure. Hey, Greg, you got time to hit a little DNA before we wrap up in a couple of hours? Sara sent me back with a few swabs of blood evidence."

"Sure," Greg replied. They'd cleared their case and Catherine wasn't likely to assign him to another while he was hobbling around like the losing Fighter in a tough Challenge. "Show me what you got, Warrick, and I'll show you what magic I can do with it..."

Despite all his concerns, and anxiety he could still put on the show. He just hoped it would work with Grissom later on when he got back.

Assuming he came back at all.

* * *

Four hours of sleep. Gil couldn't remember the last time that four hours of sleep had actually made him feel groggier than he'd been before he'd tried to sleep. It wasn't the kind of exhaustion he was used to, and he hadn't wanted to get up when Paul had shaken his shoulder. 

He hadn't wanted to leave. It was a gut feeling, a gut need that he not leave, but logically, he knew that he was supposed to. Get up, shower, pack his bags, get dropped off at Lady Heather's, hope his SUV was still there, and drive home. Sleep, and roll into work that night.

Steps, logical steps that Gil knew he should make, and didn't want to. He also didn't want the engine of Paul's Mustang to turn off, didn't want the vehicle to turn off, because that meant taking another one of those logical steps that he was doing, making, when he...

Gil wasn't cut out for people.

"Gil?" Paul sounded like he had spoken his name more than once. "I said we're here."

"Sorry. I, uh..." Gil shifted, unbuckled his seat belt. Concentrate. He couldn't let himself drift off again. "Think I fell asleep."

"Are you okay?" Paul asked again. "After last night?"

It would've been easy to say sure. Gil wanted to shrug it off, except that he was still Paul's, just for a little longer, and he was sure the only thing he'd done fully right the whole time had been in being honest. "I'll be fine."

"I didn't realize that was the sort of entertainment they were planning. Usually, the Personals are asked to attend to their Masters. I didn't think that you would mind that, considering." Millander looked at him, with sincere concern in his eyes. "But you looked... magnificent with the alien. You have no idea, and I am ashamed to say I was too taken with the sight to call a halt. It's my responsibility, Gil. I'm truly sorry."

"I don't blame you. I..." Gil exhaled what felt like a lungful of frustration. "I thought it wouldn't bother me. And now things are supposed to go back to being normal."

"And you don't want that?" Paul asked, even as they sat in the car outside Lady Heather's gothic inspired house. "I thought this was a favor you were paying. You got what you wanted, I got what I wanted and more besides. Gil, I would never want to hurt you in any way, not deliberately or without your consent."

The corner of Gil's mouth twitched up despite that he didn't feel very much like smiling. "I know." It was more than most people gave him, wasn't it? Most people couldn't even be bothered to lie a little to soften the blow. "It started as a favor. But I've admired you and enjoyed your company for years now. You..." 

"...would never forgive myself if I made you into something you aren't," Millander replied seriously. "Go home, Gil. Go back to your life and if you still want me, then we'll do this on your terms, not mine. Just... don't tempt me. Please, because you don't know how hard it is to let you go."

Words matched Paul's facial expression, strained control. Gil shifted, reached to pop the door open. He knew how it'd go. He could call in a few weeks, a couple of months, Paul would make an excuse, or... Gil made himself stand up. "I... I'm not going to say goodbye. I don't... want to go, so I'll see how it goes. Do you want... this back?" His fingers went up to the collar.

Paul nodded. "I want something to..." He stopped as if what he had been about to say would have been too much deal with. His finger crept up and he looked at Gil's eyes as he undid it. "You should be properly yourself now. I let you go."

"The collar's just symbolic. Like the cuffs. Take them off... it doesn't change things." Gil surprised himself by staying still, and sounding in control, leaning into the vehicle so Paul could remove the collar. He wanted to kiss him again, but he knew he shouldn't start the gesture, or it might startle Paul.

Instead it was Paul who startled him, by taking the collar and giving him a now familiar kiss. Hot and forceful, something he had become accustomed to over the past seven days.

Eventually Paul drew back. "We will be friends Gil, even if there's nothing more between us of this kind. For all of this, I wouldn't want you if I wasn't sure that it was your own choice, not a sacrifice. Can you understand that?"

"I understand it, Paul." Gil pushed the passenger seat forwards, and reached into the back to grab the bags that Lady Heather had sent him with. "I'll... call." On his own terms. Gil didn't usually even have terms entering a relationship, except for hope that the other person would withhold judgment.

It should have been ironic that Judge Millander had done that best of all. 

Gil set the luggage on the curb, and hesitated before he closed the door. "Be safe, Paul."

"I'll see you in court, Gil," Paul replied before closing the window, and then started the car and left him there with his luggage as if he had been abandoned.

He watched, until Paul had merged with traffic on the main road and was out of sight.

Okay. He could do it. Go back to life, go to work that night. Give Paul enough time to admit that Gil was making a rational choice. Call in a couple of days, just to see how the rest of his vacation was going. Something. He picked up the bags, and trudged back towards Lady Heather's. The stairs were almost as daunting as they'd been that first time, but Gil still made himself knock.

He'd be fine.

The door opened and Lady Heather was there, as beautiful and poised as she had been that first time. "Mr. Grissom. I'm glad to see you. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

It was a strange thing to be asked something which he could genuinely say no to if he wanted.

Except... he was tired and he needed to shake that feeling before he tried to drive home. "I would appreciate that, thanks. I brought your equipment back..."

"Thank you. Do come in," Lady Heather said. "I had a feeling you might want to talk or just unwind a little. Please, just leave the equipment there and come and sit down."

Two suitcases, with clothes and everything else he could have needed for that week. Restraints that he'd become very familiar with. He followed her out towards what seemed to be her breakfast room. The building was quiet, as quiet as it had been the morning that Paul had taken him home. "Thank you."

There were tea cups already set out around a small low table and a teapot steaming even as they entered the room. "Please sit," Lady Heather said as she sat down herself and seemed to study him.

He sat down, and then pulled the chair forwards a little before he settled. The night before had left him tired and sore, and a little emotionally shell-shocked, because Gil remembered shaking and clinging to Paul at some point, and the ride home had been a little hazy. They'd had a less coherent version of the conversation that they'd just finished having before Paul had driven away.

"Picked up anything interesting, Lady Heather?"

She smiled at him. "You've discovered that your heart can feel, and that it hurts," she said in her low voice as she poured the tea. "Part of you enjoyed it, part of you didn't want it and yet... you come back like a moth to a flame because of the warmth."

"It seems that your cutting insight didn't change in a week." Gil waited for her to finish pouring, and watched her add sugar to his, milk to both of theirs. "Moths are attracted to lights because they navigate the sky by maintaining an angular relationship with brighter celestial objects -- artificial light causes it to stray from its path, and it maintains that angle to the new light source until it hits it."

She smiled again at him. "Your... illumination of my simple metaphor is more apt than you might at first think Gil," she said softly, offering him the tea. "That parallels your own situation. Sometimes the natural needs can be suddenly derailed by the presence of something closer, intense and artificial."

He took the cup, and tasted a sip while he rolled that thought around in his mind. "I'm going to try to keep myself from stretching the metaphor again, because if I did, I'd have to say that you're telling me that I should content myself with hiding in people's closets, eating their old wool coats and forgotten dog food."

She inclined her head. "Gil, you're evading your emotions. What are you feeling now?"

"That flying headfirst into a lamp might be one of my better ideas." He took another sip and tried not to smile. Hell, he'd already taken one to the shoulder. She's picked a very good metaphor to use, Gil had to give her credit for that. 

"I can understand that," Lady Heather replied, which was a little surprising. "You thought you could compartmentalize the experience, control it even as you were being controlled."

"You're giving me too much credit. I thought I could cope, survive, and come out on the other end. I didn't expect to like it."

"I did try to demonstrate that it could be enjoyable. If we'd had more time, I would have taken you through it more gently," Lady Heather replied. "You expected to suffer, but instead of a sacrifice, you responded. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Are you comfortable with that fact?"

"Yes." He knew what he wasn't comfortable with. "What I'm not comfortable with is... well, your subtle moth metaphor. Like those moths, you're clearly implying that to make anything more of this is a mistake. Intense, but artificial."

"You misread my intent. What I want you to be sure of is that this isn't misplaced instinct and reaction, and to give it time to gain perspective." Lady Heather put down her cup a moment. "Gil, what you're experiencing now could be the real thing, or it could be the phenomena that we Personals know all too well... something that allows us to serve even where there isn't love. The experience in itself triggers certain things that speak to deep needs, not just desires. It's immensely powerful. It's why Personals are so exclusive. I've known tales of Personals who would kill at their Master's whim. Who would literally do anything in a state of almost religious ecstasy to keep the connection there. You're touching only the outside of it."

"At what point will my perspective once more be deemed valid?" Gil asked, stretching himself towards reasonableness. Telling him that he was only touching the outside of it wasn't a very good deterrent, not when Gil knew he could submit as far as was asked of him, if just...

"When you have opportunity to center and ground yourself," Lady Heather said. "To remind yourself of other emotional attachments. Your original mission has become... incidental in your mind, hasn't it?"

His jaw clenched for a moment, and he nodded, taking a sip of the tea. "Paul let me watch the challenge fight. There was a forfeit called to House Braun's favor. I know that Nick and Catherine and Warrick and everyone else took care of Greg."

She was watching him again. "I see. I... see." She seem to consider a moment. "I understand now. This is what underpins it all. You need to be needed, Gil, and they looked after him when you had done this for him. For them. And there's no space in that for you?"

"Not really. I told you, I intimidate him." And that was a fairly selfish thing for Gil to think, wasn't it? Irked that he hadn't been there, irked that other people had made sure that Greg was all right. That was worse than selfish; he couldn't even start to find words for it.

It was probably sick.

"Your authority would intimidate him," Lady Heather replied. "All authority would. But that doesn't mean that you as Gil Grissom would. You need to get to know him before you can say there's no room for you in his life. To seek more metaphors that you might feel comfortable with… You don't form a conclusion based on the single most obvious piece of evidence. It comes from the whole picture."

"Are you sure that you've never been an Investigator ...?" He tilted his head a little, in deference to her words. "I... honestly don't know what to do next."

"You take this step back and consider what you most want from life. Should that be Judge Millander, then I will be pleased to have been a part of the process that helped get you together," Lady Heather replied. "But Gil, I want you to trust me. The relationship you've touched on here is not the way you can survive for a lasting relationship. It's something you can do, and can enjoy but it's not all of who you are. If Millander is the one, I counsel you to build a relationship based on the whole of you, not just a part."

"I... understand that. Paul said as much himself." On Gil's terms. Gil would want... need to work. He'd been working for so long, he'd been an Investigator for so many years, that he couldn't imagine not doing it.

"Then perhaps Paul is the person for you. But you need to become more aware of your other side to give you... balance. The side that led you to this experience. " The Lady Courtesan looked at him. "Tell me, Gil, what do you think will happen when you return?"

He had to turn the thought over in his mind for a moment. "I don't like to try to predict the future, and I tend not to hinge much weight on expectations. But, if I were... I'd say that some of my department knows what happened. It's probably not as much of a secret as I would have liked."

"And what do you expect them to do?" she asked sipping her tea. "Or what they think?"

Gil took a slow sip on his own. "I don't know. It depends... who knows. Every one of my colleagues is a different and separate entity from the rest of them."

"Yes. I've met several in the course of their successful investigation," she replied. "Then how about the one you did this for?"

Successful? Good, good. Nick and Greg's first big case without him looking over their shoulders. Well, Nick's first big case without Gil looking over his shoulder, and Greg's first case, big, small, period, structured or unstructured. He felt a small swell of pride. "I think he'd feel guilty. I don't know how he'd react. He'd probably try to pay me back somehow, and I... don't want that."

She looked like she was considering something and decided against saying anything. "Mmm. So you would automatically doubt any gesture he makes?"

Gil shouldn't have smiled, but it did feel like they were talking circles around subjects that were the same but different. "I don't know. I'd question it, but not doubt."

"And Investigator Willows? Catherine?" She suggested. "How would she react?"

"If she knew?" He took another slow sip of tea. "I imagine that she'd shake her head, and possibly chew me out for not thinking it through."

She laughed at that. "Possibly. Because she cares."

"I expect it of Catherine. She's... I've known her for a long time now. I mentored her when she entered the field." And there was no question that she had the balls to tell him where to shove it when he screwed something up. "And Jim... will try to understand."

"Do you fear what they might think of you?" Lady Heather asked.

Gil looked down into the tea cup for a moment, running over the texture of her words. "No." No, because Catherine and Jim were friends with the Gil Grissom that ate candied insects for snacks and put bones to his mouth at a desert crime scene to see if it was a bone or a rock. 

"Then you're lucky to have such friends." She looked at him again. "Is it being alone or not needed that you fear, Gil?"

"I've been alone for a very long time." A shift, and he sat up straighter in the chair. "So of the two options, that eliminates one as a fear."

"I see. Bear that in mind when you're making your decisions Gil." She smiled. "Now, may I do you one more service? And ensure you've had proper treatment and are medically taken care of before you return home?"

Part of him wanted to decline and just go home. The other part... Gil downed the rest of his tea like it was a shot of Jim's bad Jamaican rum, and set the cup down very carefully. "I would appreciate that."

Lady Heather nodded and stood gracefully. "In that case, please come with me." She started towards the door and looked back over her shoulder at him. "You know you can trust me."

Trust was a very exhausting emotion. But Gil still followed.

* * *

Coming home was almost as surreal as it had been when Paul had left him at Lady Heather's. Talk, and tea had soothed his nerves, kicked away the stressed worry of 'what next'. It didn't matter; what next was that nothing had changed. No one would treat him differently even if they knew, not Catherine, not Jim, not Warrick, not Al, not Nick (probably). Just... Greg and Sara, and that was only a possibility. 

After all, Gil wasn't a mind-reader. He was just a guy who was coming back to his apartment after a week away, with... nothing. No suitcase, no briefcase, just his keys in his pocket, a fresh bandage on his shoulder, and Lady Heather's voice in the back of his head telling him not to engage in sex for a few days, until he was healed up.

Between the stress of facing coming home and leaving Paul, Gil hadn't even really noticed how much that had left him aching. It was funny how a mind, in the right mindset, could utterly ignore injury that way.

It was funny how he could also be so absorbed by his thoughts that he could very nearly miss the fact that there was someone literally sitting on his doorstep, with the slightly slumped posture that indicated he had been there for some time and was possibly considering sleep.

Gil stopped short for a moment, looking down at the person before he cleared his throat. "Greg?"

The messy looking hair shifted a little and Greg looked up a little blearily and then blinked. "Oh... hey. Griss. I uh, I got fond of your doorstep. We're buddies now. Spent some time together and you know how it is, one thing leads to another and..." He seemed to realize he was rambling and he pushed himself up.

Gil's eyes dropped to Greg's cuffs. They were House Braun cuffs, without question. There was a beveled edge at the ends, and the gleaming metal was thicker there. "New cuffs -- nice. What did I miss while I was gone that you decided to become close friends with the doorstep?"

"Seems that House Braun developed a burning desire for a gem level DNA technician." Greg replied pushing himself up unsteadily. "Legs gone to sleep. Yeah. And then there was a problem of housing said acquisition so they gave him his apartment near where someone responsible could keep an eye on him. Because, you know... he's got strange hair."

There was always a strange air of desperation in some of his conversations with Greg. Like Greg was trying too hard. He wanted to tell Greg he didn't need to try anymore. He could relax. But Gil didn't say it; he just leaned forwards a little and steadied the doorknob while he unlocked the dead bolt and then the door itself. "But you were waiting for me."

"Well, yeah," Greg gave an abortive shrug. "I'm the troublesome new neighbor. I live upstairs. I've been keeping an eye out for you. Doing a bit of the investigation practice, spying out the lay of the land..." He trailed off. "Uh, I can go if you want?"

He didn't want Greg to go. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd think that Lady Heather had called ahead somehow and had tipped Greg off that Gil was on his way. Maybe she got her kicks from secretly confusing men who were lonely and edging into middle age.

If she did, she was doing a very good job of it. "No, it's fine. Why don't you tell me about the case, catch me up on what I've missed. I'll make coffee if the milk hasn't gone bad." He pushed the door open, an open-ended gesture for Greg to go in first. Gil hoped Greg wouldn't ask about the lack of luggage.

"Hey, well if it has, we can go up to mine, or I could go get some," Greg offered even as he entered, still limping a little. "Can't have you without your coffee, right? You missed a pretty cool case. Nick got a bit weirded out but he tied it all up -- if you know what I mean -- in the end."

The place was just like Gil had left it when he'd gone to see Lady Heather on a restless whim, not knowing that he wouldn't be back before the tradeoff. "Did the two of you work well together? Did you like getting out into the field?" He eyed that limp for a moment, but turned away to close the door. Greg had looked in bad shape at the challenge itself, worse than he'd been in when Gil had last seen him.

He looked a little pale then, but Greg often did. "It was great. Processing, helping out, piecing it all together. Of course I missed a bit in the middle because of the Challenge and all but..."

His voice faded off as he looked around the room and he turned to look at Gil, seemingly wrestling with something he wanted to say.

Gil slipped his house keys into his pocket, standing straight, studying Greg. "But?"

He watched Greg almost visibly pull himself up. "I know what you did. To make the Challenge happen," he blurted out "I don't know why, but I wanted to say thank you."

There should have been a few hours. At least a few hours worth of time where Gil could get his bearing before hearing Greg blurt that at him. Gil hesitated, half starting to say something and then stopping before he started again. "You're welcome, Greg."

Greg looked down a moment. "And I wanted to help you. Because it can be hard, doing that sort of thing."

He wished he hadn't been right when he'd told Lady Heather that. Gil turned away then, headed for the open kitchen space that spilled into the living room. Or vice versa, and he dodged past one cluttered desk to do it. "Help me...?"

Greg looked really awkward. "Talk about stuff. About what happened with someone who knows what it's about. What it feels like. Or... I can just shut up."

He could just shut up. Except Greg's offer of help was genuinely one of... helping. And Greg had piqued his curiosity. "You've done that kind of thing...?"

"Well, yeah." Greg looked down and away a moment, unable to meet his eye. "Kinda, uh, part of the whole House Wesker experience, y'know?"

"Not personally, but I'm cognitively aware." Gil turned the tap on, and let it run cold for a moment before he started to fill the carafe. "There are people who can help, you know."

"Well yeah, but most of them haven't been in it themselves, which is why I'm offering to help," Greg replied. "Because, I don't think they get it. I mean they do, like you said, cognitively, but that's not the same as understanding."

"I meant Lady Heather." Going through the motions of making coffee was familiar and soothing for Gil. He had a coffee pot, but it looked like there'd been a power blip while he'd been out, and it needed to be reprogrammed. Then he had the espresso, and that took longer to make... but it seemed more like what Greg would need.

"Lady Heather would know, yeah, but I meant like Nick, or Catherine, Sara or Brass... I tried explaining thing but they keep falling over the reality gap," Greg replied.

"I keep falling over the reality gap, myself." Mundane conversation, the sound of one of his colleague's voice, it tugged at him as normal, sharp contrast to his time with Paul. "You take sugar with your coffee, right? Milk?"

"Please." Greg managed to get himself installed on the couch. "When we were at Lady Heather's, Nick kept trying to get his head around it. And I kept trying not to have to explain why I knew how the masks and chains and sh- uh, stuff worked. "

"The key to baffling Nicky and not having him ask why is just to explain through it in a way that he can't ask questions." There was a time for questions and a time for no questions, after all. No one had ever hounded him about how he knew half of the quirky things he knew.

Gil got the milk out, along with the coffee grounds from his freezer, and grabbed two mugs. 

"I'll remember that," Greg replied watching him. "So... uh, how was it?"

"My expectations and the reality had a wide discrepancy between them." Gil glanced at Greg for a moment while he put the coffee into the thin gold mesh filter. Wide discrepancy. A week with Paul had left him feeling bent out of shape, had left him yearning for more of the man's company, his touch, his control.

"It can be pretty scary stuff, but sometimes even when it should be bad, it can feel really good," Greg agreed and then a blush touched over his cheeks though he tried to avoid it. 

It was endearing, and a faint reminder of why he'd done all of it in the first place. Lady Heather had been right. He had lost sight of his own goal, had lost sight of a lot of things because the brighter more immediate light had been distracting. "I should feel guilty, then, because I was expecting it to be... very bad, and it wasn't."

"Cool, you had a good time with it?" Greg was looking at him waiting for the coffee. "That was your first time doing that sort of thing?"

"Yes." Hopefully Greg wouldn't make the erroneous leap that it was the first time Gil had had sex. Period. "Paul... Judge Millander was interesting. He let me watch the challenge Fight, too. Greg, what happened to you before the fight? You're still limping. That should have been better by now."

"Oh uh..." Greg looked very uncomfortable then. "I... things got complicated."

The coffee was finally starting to drip down into the clear carafe, so Gil poured Milk and sugar into both mugs, stirred them up, and waited for it to build up enough steam to froth. "I guessed that it had. Are you willing to talk about it?"

"Well, there's not that much to say," Greg replied, not looking at him then. "People don't Challenge for House Wesker Bonded. You don't invite Challenge." He drew out the lines for Gil to read between.

"Or else," Gil suggested. His trusted clunker of an espresso machine was starting to steam and make screeching noises to go with it, but Gil still looked over his shoulder at Greg for a moment more before he started to steam the milk. "I'd thought as much."

Greg nodded and looked relieved that he seemed to understand. "And of course they broke Challenge Amnesty and I guess that was a good thing because House Braun's fighter was going down, but... the end result matters most of all. And I'm... really grateful for that."

For a few moments, Gil could think and not have to reply, because the noise of the steam was high-pitched and hard to talk over. But it tapered off, and Gil shut the machine off while he stuck a paper towel under the nozzle and split the coffee between the two mugs. "I know it's going to take some getting used to for you, but I thought you needed the opportunity to excel that only being in a decent House could give you."

There was only a flicker of disappointment on the younger man's face before he grinned again. "For that, I need to have a good teacher, right?"

"Maybe. Or maybe all you need is a chance not to come into work battered and hurt every day, scared to go home at the end of the shift." Both mugs in hand, Gil prided himself in not wincing when he sat down on the sofa, beside Greg, offering him a mug.

Greg evidently couldn't think of much to say to that, not for a while even as he took the coffee. "This is always a plus point I guess." He cleared his throat. "You saved my life."

"I should have stepped in sooner." He sat back, grimacing a little as he sipped at the coffee. Familiar. His old leather sofa, and his brand of coffee that he got at a place three blocks from the department. They ground it there, and flavored it there, a business run by a smalltime House that didn't affiliate with anyone. All they did was wholesale coffee. Unambitious, but quietly successful.

"Nice," Greg said. "Mmm. There was no obligation to do anything."

But there was. If not because he was fond of Greg, then because Greg was a human being. It was as simple as that. "Yes, Greg, there was. I couldn't... not try to do something."

"That makes you different from everyone else," Greg said looking at him again.

"How? I think if any other member of the department had realized the gravity of the situation you were in, they would have done the same." Except Greg had been good at hiding it. So very good at hiding it.

"But they didn't," Greg said looking in his cup. "I don't blame anyone for that, or for anything, except myself."

"You shouldn't blame yourself at all." Gil turned his head slightly, studying Greg's face in profile. "The situation was beyond your control, and your House wasn't providing for you or anything else the way it should."

"I know, but you know what I mean. Well, I think you know what I mean after experiencing some of what it can be like," Greg said. 

"The psychological aspects, you mean." He asked that, watching Greg still because it was that or look around his apartment. Greg seemed to be doing that, eyes touching over half-finished projects and odd sense of decorum.

"Well, yeah. I'm not saying I didn't know things were wrong, I just didn't know how wrong they were," Greg replied. He smiled a little. "Having my own place, having my own money -- it's wild! But then... I don't like being alone. So it's sort of great and scary at the same time."

"You'll get used to that, too. And..." Gil trailed off, taking another deep sip. He'd still be able to fall dead asleep after that, without question. "I'm sure you won't be alone for long, once you get used to making your own decisions."

Greg was still looking at him in that strange way even as he laughed a little. "I doubt it."

"Why?" Greg had self-esteem issues, and it would probably take him years to kick the mindset that House Wesker had drilled into him. Gil knew that, and part of him wanted to fix it right away, but he couldn't. Just like he couldn't clear up Catherine's divorce problems right away, even though he would have liked to.

"I irritate people." Greg looked at Grissom and shrugged a little. "I know I irritate you, and that's okay because you let me know when I'm doing it and it helps and I can try and stop. But most people aren't like you. They just... back away. I don't have the hang of making things work. That wasn't really an option before."

"You can try now." Greg looked so oddly crestfallen, and Gil couldn't place why. "You might have noticed that I'm not the most skilled communicator in the lab. I'm blunt, I don't like to play political games... I offend people and never learn why."

"Because you're always right," Greg said with a smile. "That can piss people off. I'm pretty sure you know everything."

Wouldn't that be great? No second guessing himself, no wracking his brain until he was sure, no... wondering, waiting, thinking. There wouldn't be any vain hoping, either. "I appreciate the vote of confidence. Even if it's misplaced." 

"Nah, I don't think so," Greg smiled more easily now. "Everyone thinks so in your team. I thought you knew that. We like being your team." He seemed more comfortable not talking about himself, even if the movement he made did seem oddly restrained for him.

Injured, of course, working through it more admirably than Gil probably would have. "I can tell that from the atmosphere at the Lab; and I can tell when people need time scheduled off for them, when things get tense. Sometimes. If I'm paying attention. I don't know everything, Greg."

"I know, Griss, I was just trying to lighten things up a bit," Greg said. "You do great. I mean, you noticed with me and did something. And I reckon everyone knows they could go to you. Well, unless they're as screwed up as I am."

"You're not screwed up." He reiterated that firmly, emphasizing the words.

Greg looked at him. "It's not a big deal. I guess I'm better at playing normal than I thought. It's not normal to want the sort of things that I want."

"Normal is a matter of perspective, based on the views of the person you're talking to. What do you want that you think the guy who eats bugs would find weird?" Turn it around a little, kid them both. Warrick was better at it, but it did lighten the conversation a little.

Greg shook his head. "Nothing that wouldn't finish off the job of being rid of me through terminal embarrassment. Anyway, I'm meant to be helping you."

"You're helping." Gil's eyebrows went up a little, and he blew over the top of the coffee mug. "So, why do you think you're any more not-normal than the rest of us?"

Greg looked at him again. "You want a list? How do you feel after a week? It's been like that, and worse if you had a good time, all my life. I'm not bouncing back from that."

"No one's asking you to," Gil started, turning the thought over slowly as he ran with it. "You can get help adjusting. Or replace it with something else."

"I have, I am. I have you." Greg flushed a little. "I mean, I have you as in work and everything. I'll be okay. Nick and everyone helped me out. Doc Robbins was great. Catherine just kicked major ass and you did all this."

It twinged something in Gil to hear that, the way that Greg hesitated and flushed. He clutched at his coffee cup, closed his eyes for a minute. "Good. I knew they would. I trusted that they'd take care of you and do everything they could... once they knew what was going on."

"Brass pulled out all the Imperial hero stuff," Greg said with a smile. "Kicking down doors and uh..." He seemed to realize his enthusiasm had taken him into area's that he hadn't intended to take the conversation.

"Coming to the rescue? He tends to do that. I still think he should have been an actor." Gil curbed it, didn't push the topic because Greg looked tired and he felt tired himself.

"I reckon he thinks up the lines just so he can use them," Greg replied skittering around the topic again. He was silent for a moment, looking at his nearly empty cup. "Are you going to stay, Griss?"

"Stay...?" Gil took another sip, and then looked around. "Greg, I'm in my own apartment and not the other way around."

"I mean at the lab? Or go back to... him?" Greg asked as if the answer could be devastating.

"I..." Gil trailed off, and dropped his eyes down to look at his half-finished cup of coffee. "Haven't had time to think about it."

"But you are thinking about it," Greg said slowly. "Was he that good?"

"He..." He had to shake his head a little, trying not to think back. He was supposed to distance himself from those feelings, clear his head, and make sure his judgment was good. "He was... fascinating. Easy to get along with."

"Right." Greg nodded. "I had a guy once, one of the higher ranked Wesker Bond-Slaves, who sort of picked me as a favorite for a bit. It was great. I would have done anything for him." He cleared his throat. "I guess I'm meant to say in hindsight I was blinded and stuff like that. Brainwashed. The others in the dorm thought I was an idiot. It was good. Well, more like fantastic. And you know what? I still don't care that I was blinded. If that was brainwashing, put my brain through the spin cycle again, man."

It made Gil falter inside again, and he twitched an eyebrow when he looked up at Greg again. "There's a measure of comfort to be found in it."

"Yeah. There is. I'd do it again for the right person," he shrugged. "I'd want to do it for the right person. And I thought he was. In a pretty sad corner of my head, he still is, but... much as I like to say I saw the error of my ways, I didn't. He left. That was it. No big drama to anyone else apart from me."

"I understand why you'd do it for the wrong person," Gil murmured. He finished off his coffee, and there was a little sugar on the bottom, still. "Anything... is forgivable, right?"

"Yeah," Greg nodded and then said. "But if he is the right guy, then, you know... he's the right guy. It would be like a reward for you always doing the right thing."

The smile was there again but a little strained.

And wouldn't that be nice? Something going better than right for once for Gil. "It would. But I love the lab. If I have to choose between them..." The lab won. Hands down, it won, and Gil hadn't thought about it that way. "I've been there for so long that it's my lab."

Greg seemed to relax a bit. "Yeah. I think Catherine is desperately trying to do your filing and paperwork to show you she's done a good job."

"I know that the Sheriff will appreciate that." And Ecklie, which made Gil's mind drift a little. Ecklie. He'd have trouble interacting with him now, not that Gil had ever liked it. He was the reason the back of Gil's hand was bruised, and half the reason the night before -- not so long ago, really, just a handful of hours -- had been so unsettling.

Paul had said he'd looked amazing getting fucked by a Meta. By Kal-El. Paul had curled up behind him and slept, dozed until the morning had come. It had been good, great, contrast of sharp and discomfort with pleasure and comfort. Paul didn't love him, but he could, and Gil, Gil didn't know what love was. Except that maybe he did it too freely.

Gil just knew he needed not to drift off like that. Greg was studying him like he was a bug.

"You okay? You look like you need some sleep or something." Greg put down his coffee cup. "I can go if you want. I should have guessed you'd be tired and I'm in here and all..."

"It was just a long night." Gil stuck his finger in the mug, wiping up a little of the sugary goo. "If you don't mind me asking, Greg, just how did you figure out what had happened?"

"I... saw you last night. When you came out with the Judge. Well, Nick and I did." Greg replied. "Two and two together and making wild leaping conclusions."

Gil sucked the sugar off of his finger, and then flexed his hurt hand slightly. "Ah." Talking about it was one thing, wasn't it, the difference between discussing a crime-scene and being there when it was fresh. Nick and Greg had seen him collared, on a leash, shaky, unable to find his bearings, knotted up and desperate for Paul to guide him back to calm.

"We haven't said anything. Well, Catherine seemed to know some. She was worried about you," Greg replied

He wished he could remember what he'd been doing, what he'd said to Paul while they'd walked to leave. He hadn't seen Nick or Greg, but he hadn't been focused on much else other than Paul. "Paul has... something of a reputation as a Judge. It's understandable, but she shouldn't have worried."

After all, it wasn't as if she could do anything.

"Well we had the Recovery Abduction all planned if you didn't turn up," Greg said with a smile.

"I bet Brass would've been the first to volunteer," Gil smirked faintly, standing up so he could rinse his mug out. Greg was still nursing his. "You should probably go back to your apartment, Greg, and rest. Do you need a ride in to work tonight, or is Nicky coming to pick you up?"

"You mind giving me a lift?" Greg asked hopefully taking that as a dismissal and standing very slowly. He looked very reluctant to move. "Nick's probably had his fill of baby-sitting for a few days."

Somehow, Gil doubted that. "Nick has six siblings. I think he prefers having someone around more than most of the department." A quick burst of tap water, and Gil let it sit in the mug. He could still smell fresh coffee in the air, and that had gone a long way to shaking the knowledge that the place had been closed up and unused for a week. "I'll have to try to get you out into the field more. Did you like it?"

"It was great!" Greg said with genuine enthusiasm. "Really. I'd really like to train as an Investigator . It's not like I'll lose my other increments, just add to them."

He'd be able to buy himself out faster, too, but Gil didn't say that when he turned around, watching Greg hesitate and half walk towards him. "Exactly. Well, then it's settled. I'll try to get you out in the field more."

"Cool." Greg smiled again as he approached him a bit nervously. "I guess I better get going right?" He then rather unexpectedly reached out and patted Gil's arm. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad that you're safe." Maybe he needed more time before he interacted with people closely again, because where Gil had meant to squeeze Greg's shoulder, his hand drifted higher, thumb brushing over the neck muscles that disappeared into Greg's shirt. It was a new shirt, button down, more than a little garishly colored. Someone, probably Nick, had taken Greg clothes shopping.

He could feel the little shiver under his hand and the expression on Greg's face as he smiled back was lit suddenly from within. He notably didn't flinch or draw away. In fact, he seemed on the verge of leaning forward towards him. "Thanks. I guess I should let you get your head around things for a few hours or so. But... you know where I am if you need me. Next floor up opposite the stairwell."

"Right." Gil finally managed the friendly pat he'd been trying for, even if it fell short, and let Greg move back. He followed him, was going to follow him to the door. "I'll be up this evening if you need a ride."

Greg made his way out, looking over his shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee. I'll see you later."

"You're welcome." He followed after Greg, just so he could make sure he locked the door. "Thank you for... waiting to see me."

Greg shrugged but smiled. "Just for that, you've got to come to the housewarming party I'm throwing. Or I'll camp on your doorstep again."

"Play along or else, huh? You're taking lessons from Catherine?" He managed a smile, something like one, and nodded. "Good night, Greg."

"Night," Greg put up his hand and disappeared off towards his new home. Grissom could see him just reaching for his phone even as rounded the corner.

Huh. That was interesting, and Gil closed the door after a moment, careful to lock it.

He probably needed to make something to eat, or he'd wake up in eight or nine hours with a headache.

* * *

Conversations with Greg were a little like an adult version of Lindsey after Warrick had been around and fed her too much sugar. It had taken Catherine about fifteen minutes to get a straight answer as to whether Gil was okay or not, to which the answer seemed to be, "Yes. No... uh, maybe."

That wasn't the most reassuring thing she'd ever heard even though it sounded like Grissom was not in danger of immediate collapse. Greg had said he seemed tired so instead of rushing over, she elected to catch him at their 'breakfast' and get him some groceries she knew he liked and generally tug him in the direction of the lab.

Bags rustling beside her, she knocked on the door, hoping he was awake.

It was seven, and if Gil wasn't awake by seven, then she wouldn't have any problem using her spare key to open the door. If he wasn't awake by seven, then there was something wrong. Gil survived well, maybe better than most people on next to no sleep, thrived on it.

So it didn't really surprise her when the door creaked open, or that she could hear that he had his stereo on. Gil looked a little worn around the edges, but he was dressed, and smelled like he'd just gotten out of the shower, the soap smell still drifting.

"Catherine. What're you doing there?"

"Playing good House-mates," Catherine said as she half raised the bags up. "A week away from home and knowing what you keep in the fridge at work, your food stocks might pretty much be in the line to be sent to trace. I'm sure Hodges would like them. Thought you might like something to eat. And I came to see how you were and bring you up to speed."

Bringing him up to speed were the magical words that seemed to make him take a step back to let her in. He probably hated that he'd missed anything at the lab. "There's some cheese that I think could be used as a topical antibiotic if I shredded it finely..." He gave a closed-mouth smile, and let her come in.

Gil's apartment never really changed. He got more books, loaned some out, added a few bug displays, upgraded his electronic equipment, but all in all, it was still very much like it had been every other time she'd ever entered into it. This time, Gil had the coffee table covered with notes, and his laptop was sitting near a glass of what looked like dubious orange juice. It had left a semi-opaque film on the side from Gil taking a sip, and he'd put it on the furthest coaster from his laptop and the dent in the sofa, and it was a good guess that it had congealed while he'd been gone.

"You need some fresh food," she said walking with confident assurance into his kitchen and unpacking the bags as if she lived there. "Bread, bagels, juice, milk. Some of your favorites. Throw that old stuff away." She glanced at him taking note of his appearance. "Get much sleep or did Greg keep you up too long?"

"Greg was gone by eleven. I slept just fine." He picked up the juice from the table, and seemed to be going along with her suggestion; he abandoned it on the counter, and then opened his fridge to clear out the food that had gone bad. He never kept much in there to begin with -- a few experiments, his chocolate covered bugs, bottled water. "The milk's actually still good."

"It's probably water with white paint in it then," Catherine smiled a little as she dealt with it efficiently. "You might have guessed that I told Greg to call me after he'd seen you."

He leaned against the countertop, definitely favoring one side over the other. Gil had broken out one of his nicer button down shirts, but it still didn't hide what looked like a shoe-shaped bruise on his left hand. "I did. I also caught him pulling out his cell phone before he'd turned the corner."

"I'll have to teach him a little more discretion," Catherine replied and moved over towards him, just reaching for his injured hand and taking it in her own. "Millander did this?"

Gil gave a short, abortive shake of his head, but he didn't jerk his hand back from hers. It looked like it was going to be painful to move, but didn't seem too serious. Nothing broken, or too swollen looking. "Ecklie. We attended Eiger's party for his daughter."

"Conrad?" Catherine felt a surge of protective outrage. "That's the last excuse I need. Next time he pushes his luck, politics be damned I'm kneeing him in the groin." She didn't even want to imagine the sort of position that Gil had been in to have that happen. "What happened, Gil?"

A tug, and Gil pulled his hand back. "It's a long story. And I already kneed him in the groin. That's why he stepped on my hand later. Last night... was a very long evening, and high society, Catherine? I hardly comprehend it."

"I get that," Catherine said dryly. "So how are you really, Gil? Sam tipped me off about what you were doing, but I was going to keep it quiet until Greg and Nick stumbled over what was going on. High society can be a death trap at the best of times."

She could see him hesitate to answer, and then he took the orange juice before she could put it in the fridge, reaching for a glass that didn't have a film in it. "I'm still trying to work through it."

"Yeah, well, you know we're not, I'm not, going to let you do that on your own, right?" Catherine replied, feeling a surge of concern. "I'm not going to let you disappear away from us all."

She was almost a little ashamed at how intense that came out. She cared for Grissom, she loved him -- but more like best friends who hovered always on the borderline of not going any further. She hadn't missed how it had hurt him when she had said she'd wanted it to go further but she hadn't needed complications right then and sleeping with the boss on a *regular* basis was definitely a complication.

He was quiet for a moment, pouring the juice and then pouring a second glass worth. "Oh, good -- more advice."

"I see you haven't lost your ability to snark," Catherine replied. "Fine, you don't want advice, I get it. I just... you do this all the time, Gil. You do these things and it's like... you don't think anyone is going to notice."

Instead, she had spent the week worried about him, worried about the team, worried about everyone until she was desperate for a good DB to turn up so she could drown out the worry in her own head.

She hadn't been that lucky. Vegas had to choose that week to go relatively quiet, didn't it?

Gil turned, and offered her a glass of the juice. "I didn't expect anyone to. I'd hoped I could pass it off like I was going to a conference or a consultation."

"Well, Sam and I had a conversation, and I'm glad because someone should know what you do for us," Catherine said taking the drink from him. "But Nick and Greg? Entirely coincidence. They won't say anything if you don't want them to. I won't either."

"I'd appreciate that. I... can't actually remember what they saw," Gil murmured as he leaned past her to put the juice in the fridge. "Since you're here, do you want to stay for breakfast?"

She smiled at that. "Sure. I can tell you about the cases. And the Challenge and how Brass and I bullied our way through the Imperial Courthouse. I've had to keep Greg in as well. Doc Robbins says he can't go out of the lab for a bit."

"Oh. I guess my promise to get him out into the field more will have to wait until Al gives him a clean bill of health." He took a swig, and contemplated the contents of the refrigerator for a moment.

Catherine looked at him and sighed a little. So perceptive in some ways, so incredibly clueless in others. "He did tell you what happened, right?"

"He alluded to it. Among other things." Gil leaned back, and looked at her. "French toast sound good?"

"Sounds great," she said absently, wondering how much to say. The moment he looked at the cases, he would see the pictures. They jarred in her mind with the appearance that Greg managed to put on. She knew what was under his clothes now, and he'd come into work as if nothing had happened. She knew Grissom, and knew that if he came across the severity of what had happened, the inescapable fact that however well intentioned, his action had nearly cost Greg his life under very unpleasant circumstance, he would possible snap with shock or guilt. "What do you know of what happened?"

"He was kidnapped by his House, sexually assaulted in some manner, beaten, but they missed his hands and his face -- and then Brass came to the rescue like something out of a movie." Gil took out the bread that she'd bought, and pulled out four slices. "Paul let me watch the fight itself. Greg looked like he was in bad shape, and I know he can't have improved that much in three days. His pupils were dilated, so Doc Robbins has him on some good painkillers still."

"He is." She exhaled again. "Gil, they were in the process of killing him. That's how House Wesker deals with Challenge."

"I know. I knew that was a possibility before I asked Sam to challenge." Gil didn't quite meet her eyes as he got the milk and eggs out. He moved his right shoulder a little stiffly when he reached. "He was going to die soon, anyway. The injuries he was coming in to work with were escalating in severity."

Catherine felt herself gape for a moment. "You... knew? You put him through that, knowing? Do you know that he got a pill off of Robbins to commit suicide with if House Wesker won so he wouldn't have to live through being tortured to death? I don't believe it Gil, I really don't."

"I didn't think House Braun could lose, all right?" Gil jerked a little, half-slammed the refrigerator door, and then moved past her to get a pan out. "I knew what could happen, yes, and I weighed the risks against the gains and I made a decision. I wasn't going to watch him die a little more every day he came into the lab and pretend that I didn't notice what they were doing to him just because he smiled a lot."

She had to remind herself she was dealing with a potentially unstable Grissom and calm down when she wanted to try and make him see that maybe he wasn't always right and it had nearly ended up killing Sanders. She knew if that had happened, she would have lost him to the guilt as well.

Calm. She could do calm. "Gil, look... I know you did what you thought was right, and you're right, he was in trouble but...." How could she put it? Even express that it was wrong. "He's doing his best to hide it from you because he thinks you'll feel guilty if you find out how bad it was. Nick's told me that. And you're going to look over the files and see how bad it was. And maybe you'll realize how much your opinion means to him that he's putting that aside to make you feel better."

"I've already figured that out. After what happened to him, he still waited at my doorstep for... I don't know how long, and then offered to help. That..." Gil shook his head slightly. "If you meant the files in your virtual hard-drive, Catherine, I already looked at them."

"I should have known," Catherine shook her head. "Okay, I'll let you deal in your own way, Gil. I've pushed it enough. And I didn't come here to do that, I came here to see how you were."

"And to give me a lecture on not thinking things through?" He was smiling a little, so apparently he hadn't taken offense to what she'd been saying, and he hadn't turned catty, which was just... never a good sign. When Gil got into one of those moods it was a miracle that no one killed him. It was probably by virtue of fear alone that no one had tried so far.

"Well either you know that already and you don't care, or you do and there's nothing I can do about it. Toast done yet?" Catherine asked peering over his shoulder. "If you've looked at the files maybe you don't need me to help you out with getting up to date."

"I just looked at the stuff concerning Greg. I've actually been working on those book revisions I've been meaning to do." Gil went about making the French toast, sopping the bread carefully. Catherine knew he was a fairly decent cook, probably just out of survival skills and wanting to avoid scurvy from too much take-out. "We're going to be getting a new Trace Materials Analyzer. Or we should be."

"You're not telling me that the Imperial treasury is loosening its grip and giving us new equipment? How did you swing that?" Catherine replied. A new Trace Materials Analyzer? The lab techs would be in heaven!

"I was in the right place, at the right time..." Gil trailed of for a moment, and used a fork to lower two of the slices of bread to the pan. "Could you grab a plate? Thanks."

Catherine found herself getting them out automatically. "That's a hell of a right place to be. Millander again? Not the Sheriff, I know that. We've been trying on him for ages for that equipment."

"Since I ticked off Ecklie, I'd expect a little more foot-dragging than usual from him for a while, and I'm sorry about that." He quirked an eyebrow at the toast he was making, and his sorry seemed sincere, but masking something else. "Bruce Wayne is in town right now, and he was at that event last night. I'm sure that the Trace Analyzer will have marked very clearly all over it that it was donated by Wayne Enterprises. All I have to do is stop procrastinating with the book revisions."

"That's a pretty good advance for a specialist text," Catherine replied. "Who knew Bruce Wayne was into bugs?"

"Crime scenes, I think. I was... talking with Wayne's Personal and Paul called me over. It was a little surprising that he recognized my name from a book that I put out back when I was a Freeman." Gil put the first piece of toast on a plate. "So Entomology of Murder is going to be revised as soon as I can finish it."

"That's a good deal if he sees it through," Catherine nodded. "And that book has needed finishing. I've heard you say it a dozen times."

"The lab is busy," Gil shrugged. "I'm sure Sam will take this past week out as vacation time, so...." So, the only reason it might get finished at all was because someone was dangling a reward for the lab in front of Gil.

"Send Nick out on his own and you might get that time," Catherine replied. "He did good on that case with Greg."

"Who was it that killed Mona?" Mona. They hadn't even figured out who the body was when Gil had left, so he'd found it out somewhere, but apparently not the full details.

"A Mr. Nelson... Lost control of a revenge scene with the Personal as a surrogate for his wife." Catherine answered.

Gil nodded, and Catherine wondered at the fact that she probably wasn't going to have to explain the concepts to him. "I know Greg was excited, and that they're both sure it was a tight case. He confessed?"

"He offered DNA out of spite to his wife," Catherine said with a smirk. "It's never a good thing when one pays out in a marriage and the other doesn't."

"I guess." He finished the second piece, and started on the third and the fourth, offering Catherine the first plate. "Anything else interesting been going on?"

She took the plate and then sat at the kitchen table. "Well, lets see. I didn't know how much the lab guys can bitch, because they can. Individually is bearable, but when they cluster up it's worse. How do you deal with them?"

He had his back to her while he finished making his own breakfast, and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure. Usually I take the information and go back to working on the case."

So Gil was in one of his calm moods. She knew him, knew it would take a bit of time to wear that down. "Warrick and Sara got the robbery sorted. Inside job. Husband and brother-in-law."

"Good. And there haven't been any big cases since then? Just cleaning up backlog?" 

Catherine half-wondered what she'd find once she did wear him down. Ecklie had stepped on his hand, and he'd apparently kneed Ecklie in the groin at the same event where he'd talked to the head of House Wayne, and Wayne's Personal. That was the same event that Greg and Nick had seen him leaving with the Judge, collared and on a leash. Greg said that Gil was crying or... emotional. 

So far, she had a lot of pieces of evidence, and no real idea what had happened.

She knew Gil, though, and pushing too hard to start with wouldn't make him crack. She had to choose a moment where she could see the stress fractures and push at it then. Otherwise she might as well be beating her head against a brick wall. "No, nothing major. Just the Challenge and some property theft. One minor Abduction."

"Light week." He sounded surprised, and turned off the stove once he put his own French toast on the plate. Gil sat down across from Catherine, watching her the way he did when he drifted off at a crime-scene, lost in thought.

"Must have known you were out," Catherine smiled at him eating the French toast. "Pretty good, Gil."

"Mm?" His head jerked a little as he cut into it, looking up at her with a passingly bewildered expression. "Thanks."

"...If you took a day off today, it wouldn't be the end of the world," she suggested after a moment's pause.

"I'm not going to snap, Catherine. I just..." He chewed on a piece of the French toast before he gave her an actual answer. Maybe he was making one up. "Need something to do."

"Well there's always plenty to do, even if it's just finishing up the evaluation or your book. I did what paperwork I could," Catherine said, trying not to sound like someone sucking up to her favorite teacher. Although she knew she sorta was. But she'd left an apple on his desk to mock herself, and she knew he'd understand that.

He managed a smirk. "You know that everything you didn't get to might still be there the next time I leave the lab in your capable hands?"

"I gathered that. Scooping things off the desk into a drawer isn't filing, Gil," Catherine pointed out. "And I found a dead spider squashed over your copies of our last staff evaluations."

"What kind of spider?" Gil had a piece of toast on one end of his fork, and he was gesturing when he asked that. "I'm going to try better, Catherine, but that's the best I can promise."

"A big one." Catherine replied. "I'll leave the species up to you. Trying your best is all anyone can ask."

"Maybe... I could get a bigger drawer." Ah, that was teasing-toned, which meant that Gil really was fine -- doubtful -- or that he was trying harder than Catherine thought he was capable of. After all, whatever had happened to him, he'd probably downplay it because Greg had been hurt so badly.

Which was exactly what Greg had probably been doing with Gil.

Sometimes Catherine wondered about them all and how they managed to organize their way through life. If they had kids, they'd have to sort themselves out soon enough. She smiled a little at him. "That would be a... typical man's solution."

He was still smirking a little, but some of it seemed to leave his eyes. "I just don't enjoy the bureaucratic aspects of it."

"I can't say I exactly reveled in it, Gil," Catherine replied. "But with any luck, I used the downtime to bring order to your chaos. Oh. And if you get a complaint about me from an Imperial Judge, I'm not at all sorry."

He set his fork down with a clink. "Okay, but maybe you could warn me why you might have an Imperial Judge complaining about you...?"

"Well Brass and I kinda kicked down her door with the Forfeit and then I borrowed her microphone without permission," Catherine said unrepentantly. She finished her French toast. "I wasn't in the mood. A few minutes more and there would have been a declared winner and even with the Forfeit, that would have meant Greg would have gone back to Wesker in the short term. She wasn't impressed with my attitude."

"If she complains, I'll let her know that you've been dealt with suitably." Without actually doing anything, since Gil looked caught between concerned and amused: amused that she and Jim would do that, concerned, obviously, that Greg had almost gone back to House Wesker.

"It would probably be pushing my luck to put in an expense claim for the shoes I wrecked sprinting along corridors?" Catherine asked smiling at him. She was pleased he seemed to be more solidly Grissom now. It might take a while to get to the 'Gil' phase of their close rapport, but he was definitely feeling more solid.

Maybe he'd be just fine to work that night. "You would be, since it wasn't departmental business. I get chewed out enough by Ecklie and the sheriff for our legitimate expense claims." 

"Damn," Catherine said. She looked at her watch. "I've got to get back and take Lindsey over to the House Childcare. Mom is busy tonight and...." Whatever Eddie was doing she didn't want to know. She looked at Gil for a long moment. "You are gonna be okay, aren't you, Gil?"

He flashed her a smile that seemed a little fake. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're not bulletproof to everything. No one is," Catherine replied. "One day you might even believe me when I say that, but I'm guessing today isn't that day."

She worried about him because he had that strange sense of duty and responsibility and need to fix things that lead him to do things like that but a conviction in himself that made him do that knowing he would be risking someone else's life in the process. She wasn't sure if she could do that. Half the time she didn't know whether to be proud of him or mad at him. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek. "People care about you, Gil. One day you might just believe that, too."

"I know." He let her kiss his cheek, and he exhaled when she pulled back. "There just isn't anything for me to be but all right. I'll be fine, Catherine. Really."

"You know you can call me any time, right?" Catherine said sensing a glimpse of Gil at that hint of care and affection and pushing at it. "I don't think I'm ready for you not to be around."

"I'm not ready to leave the lab, either, Catherine." He stood up, and for a moment they were very close, before Gil mindfully stepped back. "So don't worry."

If she'd been there the night before, she might have pursued that closeness and made it work for her, but right now there was little time before they all had to be in to work, bright and breezy for the daily body count Las Vegas had to offer. "I'll work on it," she said. "Thanks for the breakfast. I'll see you in the lab."

"Of course." He slipped one hand into his pocket, and walked with Catherine to the door. It was hard to tell if she'd accomplished anything by going there. He'd opened up, briefly, but then he'd shut down, and it was hard to tell.

In the end, at least he knew that people did care and, what was more important, had evidence of that fact. She wasn't above using his guiding precepts to prove points to him even if they were for his own good. Especially if they were his own good, and it had to be done now, before he slipped back into the protective shell that being their supervisor gave him, and no one could get through.

She gave him one last concerned look, but she really did have to go fetch Lindsey, and moved to leave. "Later, Gil." She was half aware that he was watching her leave, until she heard the closing of his apartment door. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

So much room. 

Greg still found himself trying to make his home in a corner of each room, curled up on the edge of his bed. And the luxury of there being food in his fridge. The luxury of having a fridge. A TV that he didn't have to fight a House-full of others to see anything.

He had inspected every inch of the place when he hadn't been able to get to sleep. For one wild impetuous moment he had been so overwhelmed by the emptiness that he had considered sneaking back downstairs to Grissom's place and begging a spot on his couch.

Aiming for the bed was a little bit ambitious considering he was half sure he had bugged the guy. He grinned at the inadvertent pun and knocked back his horse pill sized painkillers. He didn't want Grissom to know how stiff he was with his back, particularly if he was going to be in a car with the guy. That made things easier, at least until he learned how to drive -- another Miracle that clearly the rest of his House-mates took for granted. Greg was going to have to get a car, somewhere, and he'd probably have to beg someone to go with him so he'd end up with a good one.

Nick seemed to volunteer for all of that and Greg wasn't sure if it was because he was just protective or whether he really wanted to. Truth was, he'd missed sneaking onto the couch when Nick stayed over. Not that they had done anything, though he kept kinda offering because Nick had expressed an interest.

But Nick was sweet and uncomplicated and.... oh shit, he'd forgotten to call him and tell him he didn't need a lift!

Great. It was already coming up towards nine, and that meant Nick would be there any minute, having driven from the other side of town to get Greg and Gil was going to come up when Gil looked like he really just wanted to sleep for a couple of days, and...

He needed a brilliant plan before there was a knock at the door. But there was a knock at the door, and no brilliant plan.

Unsteadily, he moved over and opened up.

"Hey, Greg." Nick -- Nick before he got into the locker and traded a thin denim jacket for his department-issued vest, his gun and his ID card. "Ready to go?"

"Man, hey..." Greg looked at him. "I forgot to call, I asked Griss to give me a lift. I went down to see him earlier." Well waited on his doorstep rather uncomfortably for hours. He grimaced. "I've screwed this up a little."

He could see Nick process through the one fact and then the other, and then Nick kind of invited himself in, stepping forwards. "It's cool. I tried to get you in here so there'd be at least one person you knew in the building, and after what we saw last night, Greg... So, how was he?"

"He was..." Trying to be in control, isolationist but hurt and still really effected no matter what anyone said. Every time he thought about that straying touch to his neck his insides pretty much melted. He couldn't help it, even if he was pretty sure it was just a hangover of forced emotional attachment, or whatever the psych's called it. "Grissom," he said finally. "He made me coffee. And he seemed pretty good considering I expect I was the last person he wanted to see there."

Nick turned from looking around Greg's apartment, and shook his head at Greg. "Don't say that. This is... You shouldn't let yourself think that he holds grudges or gets all pissed off irrationally. He doesn't. He's not going to blame you for any of it. So...."

And there was the second knock on the door.

Greg opened the door again and smiled. "Hey, Griss," he said making sure his tone didn't betray his concern. "I... uh, forgot to tell Nick not to come and pick me up. He just came over."

"Hey, Boss." Nick was probably giving a wave or something, standing behind Greg, while Grissom...

Grissom cocked an eyebrow slightly, and just nodded. He looked only a little less tired than he'd seemed before, and there was still something distinctly off in his mannerisms. The edges of his mouth came up to something like a smile. "We'll have to get you a calendar so you can mark down who's taking you into work what days."

"Well, I always had to get a bus or something, before," Greg said. "Um." He glanced between them "How about one of you guys drives all of us in?"

Maybe it was a great idea. Maybe, maybe it was a horrible idea, because Gil started to shake his head. "I'll just see you both at the lab," he told them, and started to turn away before Nick jumped in.

"No, really. It's a good idea. You're probably jet-lagged from your flight, uh, and since I have to come back here anyway to drop Greg off in the morning..." Nick gave him a wide smile. "I'll just take you both in. If you don't mind country music."

Greg tried not to mentally wince. Nick was trying to cover for them and it just sounded wrong after he'd had a brain-blurt and spilled the truth everywhere earlier on.

"Or you could drive the both of us. Or I could... uh stop messing up the calendar and find the nearest bus route. It's okay, I can do that."

"It's easier to car pool. Okay, Nicky. We can do that. I am pretty tired after... my flight." The weirdest smile touched Gil's mouth, like when he said 'flight' he meant something completely different. 

"See?" Nick grinned. "So, Greg, you ready yet?"

"I'd say I was born ready but... I keep forgetting I have keys now," he said as he headed back to the table to get them. This was great, he might just get a chance to get them all back to his place after shift and the place wouldn't feel so empty. "Got 'em."

He still had to find a way to tell Nick that he had told Grissom what had happened. Well, not every detail, but enough. Otherwise, he was going to keep making a fool of himself, and god knew what Gil would think. Grissom had stepped out into the hallway, and was flipping through either menus or messages on his cell phone, and that left plenty of space for Nick and Greg to step out into the hallway. "Oh, and Nicky? I know that you know what actually happened, but thank you for your discretion."

"Sorry, man," Greg apologized immediately. "I... uh... well, you know."

Nick was probably going to be pissed at him now for making him lie to Grissom. He didn't even know he was doing it but he seemed to try and shrink in on himself a bit in an automatic reaction.

"Oh, uh..." Nick blinked, staring at Grissom more than Greg. "I just didn't want to make a big deal, you know..."

"I do know. So, are we going? I'm fairly sure that the night shift Supervisor doesn't like people showing up late."

Greg grinned. "Yeah, I hear he's a tyrant that way," he said ushering them outside and feeling the thrill of locking up his place. He didn't think he'd ever get over that.

Crap, he'd left his pills on the side and he'd need something midway through the shift. But if he went in he'd be drawing attention to what had happened and his injuries and he couldn't do that because Grissom would have a fit if he knew all the details. He could survive a few hours of pain. He'd done more than that before and he could always try and sneak something off of Doc Robbins. 

Normal, he was trying to be normal. "You guys wait until I can drive and get some wheels."

"The fastest way to learn how to drive is to look through car magazines," Nick grinned as they started to head down the hallway. 

"Are you sure that it's not by getting behind the wheel and practicing?"

"Warrick says Nick drives like his grandmother," Greg replied having to push himself to keep up. "But I've heard stories about his grandmother. I reckon she's one mean driver. And I intend to look at the magazines and practice."

It would've been funnier if they both hadn't noticed that Greg was gimping along beside them at the same time, but that was how it happened. Gil slowed down, and Nick slowed down because Gil slowed down.

"Greg, do you have your medication with you or are you keeping them at the office?"

"Uh." Greg was suddenly and was irresistibly reminded of how prisoners or the mentally disturbed were escorted along. "Now you mention it, I think they're back inside. But it's no big deal, I'm sure Doc Robbins can give me something if I need it."

He was pretty proud of that. Made it sound like it was optional and minor.

Nick shot Greg a dubious kind of look, while Gil didn't press the issue. "If you need to go back, Greg, not showing up to work a couple of minutes early isn't the end of the world." Gil's voice fell quiet, insistent, and he reached a hand to turn Greg's shoulder slightly.

"No, it's okay, really. It's fine," Greg replied with a nervous grin. It made him all the more determined to appear 'fine'. He was desperate not to make things any worse for the other man, or for Nick. They'd had enough to put up with without him being a complete wuss. "Lets get in to work. CODIS is calling me."

"Okay."

Greg wasn't sure if he imagined the way that Gil patted his shoulder, missing his wounds and landing on a nice safe place. He had to be imagining it, because pretty much only Nick and Doc Robbins knew where he wasn't hurt. Just luck.

Nick flashed Greg a smile over his shoulder as he got ahead of them both, and jammed the elevator button.

"You two are gunna have to fight it out for who gets shotgun."

* * *

Seventy five miles.

A cashier murdered at a Freeman-run local grocery store, the first case of the night, and Gil had jumped at taking it, with assistance, if just because he wanted something to do. Something to keep his mind from sliding backwards and dwelling. 

His brain had just slipped on that seventy-five miles part. Damn speed limits, he'd be lucky if they got there in the next hour.

He had to remind himself that Sara didn't know just because it seemed like everyone else did. At the moment, she was giving him strange looks and just jumping into conversations without any warning. 

She always did that. Sometimes he appreciated it, as on the whole small talk bothered him by being a waste of time. Tonight, he could have done with some to cushion the blow.

"So Nicky told me you were off on some high powered course." Sara said conversationally. "And I know you got pulled by someone higher up. Are we talking Imperial Service consultancy?"

A week-long consultancy in servicing an Imperial judge. Gil shifted, sat up straighter, and leaned against the half of a molded armrest that was on the inside of the door, fingers curling around the handle loosely. He wished Ecklie hadn't stepped on his left hand, because then it would've been easier to hide it. 

"It was just for a week."

"That's a lot of consultancy though," Sara said. "Bugs again?" She flashed him a smile even as she kept her eyes on the road.

"Not a one." He managed a faint smile in return, not really caring to make sure that she saw it. "It covered a variety of matters."

"Well you managed to miss all the excitement," she said. She obviously didn't know that he had already been updated. "In the lab, not in cases. It was pretty straightforward work wise. A little bit of robbery fraud."

"I managed to catch most of the Challenge fight. The... Judge I was lending a hand to made a point to watch fights." A little lie mixed with a little truth made the lie work better. It wasn't even an outright lie, just a series of select omissions.

"Greg freaked when he was served with the Challenge and we couldn't figure why," she said and shrugged a little. "We thought he'd be glad. House Braun is a good House to Bond to. Warrick thought maybe he had someone in Wesker he was attached to. We've had enough Romeo and Juliet suicides to know that twist. Anyway, Nick was dealing with him. Nick took him back to his place? And we all thought he'd be fine there. We just thought Greg was being jittery, because... he's pretty jittery anyway."

"He was kidnapped by his own House. I know enough of what happened. Greg's in the same building as I am, and he invited himself over for a cup of coffee this morning." He couldn't, didn't sound irked by that fact, though. Greg had, but Gil had been happy for the company, for the distraction that was Greg. A solid reminder of why he'd gotten into it all in the first place.

"Oh, right." There was a pause, and then Sara continued obviously not giving up on the story. "Warrick was telling me that Nick called Catherine after the Wesker guys burst in with machine guns at Nick's place. Where the hell was House security in that? Or even the Imperials. Challenge Amnesty should have made sure he was clear and free. But no, Nick gets a concussion and Greg let himself be dragged off. I told him afterwards he should put in a claim for compensation against Wesker for that."

"No sense in starting a House War over it," Gil offered. "It was a close call as it was."

"Yeah, but..." Sara looked at him for a moment. "They broke Amnesty. Someone should have been monitoring the situation. Nick and Catherine were down at the Courthouse wrangling an Imperial search and all the time those bastards at Wesker were putting Sanders through hell. I think the system let him down. I mean, you just accept that people will abide by Challenge Amnesty because without it, the whole thing falls apart."

Gil closed his eyes for a moment. Justice, yes, should be free. But it wasn't. It wasn't, and the system wasn't going to change overnight. "There's an Imperial investigation into it. I'm sure that the acting head of House Wesker in Vegas will suffer for what he did. But it's an action taken long after the fact. You all did the most that you could do to rectify the situation."

"Well I came in on it pretty late. Minding the shop," Sara said. "But Warrick and I caught up with them when they were working out where to take him. Doc Robbins put him up in his place did you know that? I don't think Greg knows that we... uh... processed him when he was unconscious. Nicky and I did anyway." She shook her head. "Catherine said it was necessary to keep him away from that place."

The photographs. Gil nodded his head as he tried not to dwell on it. Photographs of the wounds on Greg's back, with a ruler for size comparison, probably swabs from his mouth, and of course scrapings from under his nails. "That was very level thinking of all of you. Catherine was right. It was probably what enabled her to get the forfeit."

"Yeah. Yeah it was," Sara looked pensive a moment. "You know what's really amazing? Sanders wakes up and he's immediately making jokes. Like it's normal. The guy's there having been beaten with a sharp edged metal bar as well as fists and all. He's been sexually abused, and it's like that's... not important. I don't get it."

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to be talking about it. "It's a coping skill," Gil murmured. "He isn't comfortable wearing his pain on his sleeve."

"There's pain, Grissom, and there's... what happened to him." Sara stared ahead for a little while. "I had a... debate with Brass about Imperial monitoring of the Challenge system. Which sucks, not to put too fine a point on it."

"Something needs to be done," Gil agreed, shaking his head slightly. Try not to think, try not to think, but it was harder for Gil than he wanted it to be. He remembered those pictures and remembered Greg sitting on his sofa beside him that morning, and the way he'd resisted to get his pain pills. "But where the system failed..." We. "All of you stepped in to catch the slack. I know that Greg appreciates that, even if he didn't expect it."

"Yeah, it worked out in the end though I was sure House Braun was going down in the Fight. They're replaying that as one of the Fight classics of the year even if it called in Forfeit," Sara said. "Nick looked after Sanders though. He's pretty taken with him."

He was, and there wasn't any denying it. There was an easy rapport between the two of them, easier than the one that Nick had with Warrick. Relaxed and there was a hint of extra care, a hint of intimacy that Gil had been reading far too often of late in other situations, but it applied too well to Nick and Greg.

It made his brains kick up Lady Heather's words. How he needed to be needed, and the more he reviewed how things had shifted slightly while he was gone... the less it seemed that he was needed there. Catherine was a good supervisor in her own right, Nick was ready to work solo, Greg was looking to stretch out into the field...

"Good for them."

"I thought Nick was one for the girls. Considering... you know," Sara replied. "And Greg seems to make a pass at me pretty often. I just wondered how it was going to work." She gave one of her wry grins. "But then he flirts with pretty much everyone. Even you."

Even you. Gil took in that blow, half-ready to hold onto it even while he gave a quiet laugh. Even you. Even Gil, look, Greg flirted with everyone, _even Gil._ "I hadn't noticed." That took a little of the edge off, because he hadn't. Greg's funny jittery displays of evidence... weren't flirting. 

"Come on, you must have. He does it with you practically more than anyone," Sara said missing his reactions. "He always has."

"Huh." Did he? Well, it didn't really matter, because Gil hadn't noticed unless it was on some subconscious level, and there was Nick. Nick made Greg laugh through most of the drive to the office. "I honestly didn't notice."

"Well I do."

There was no doubt missing the hardness in her tone, and a lot of her seemingly random antagonism towards Greg became very obvious. He didn't irritate her as such, she was jealous. It was a testament to her character that she could get so protective over someone she saw as a rival.

"Anyway. He's House Braun now so... that's all to the good."

"No matter who he flirts with, it's not likely to cause any political problems," Gil noted dryly. They'd already run out of lights lining the road. There was only the glow of the dashboard and the headlights of the SUV stretching out in front of them through the dark.

"I wanted to apologize for not getting to doing your review before I was called away. Did Catherine get to it...?"

"We were going to when I cleared the robbery case and then all this happened," Sara replied. "It doesn't matter."

"When we get back from this, remind me that I need to fill yours out," Gil told her anyway. That meant he had Warrick's, too, but Warrick's was comparatively easy. Warrick was right on track, a good, dependable Investigator with no active problems that interfered with his work.

"Sure." She glanced at him again and smiled. "What did you do to your hand?"

Of course, it would be too much to hope that she would miss it. That was why he had been willing to accept her as the pay off as a death-compensation on Holly. 

Sara Sidle was smart, keen, willing to excel, devoted to the job. Everything that an Investigator needed to be. Everything he wished that she wasn't just then, because he knew that he couldn't just say he hit his hand on a door, or something. They knew what all sorts of punch marks and hit marks looked like, and the blooming bruise on the back of his left hand was, well. Part of a shoe print.

"Someone stepped on my hand. I lost my footing in a crowd..." Half a truth.

"You've got to watch your balance," Sara said pleasantly enough. "Must have been a rough crowd. Stampede to the free coffee."

Stampede to sex, if Kal hadn't decided to play the game the way he had. Gil nodded, made a noncommittal sound. "It was an interesting week."

"Sounds like it," Sara relaxed a little. "You look like you could use a bit of rest and relaxation to get over your vacation."

"Probably, but I have some book revisions to finish first." And those, the quiet tedium of typing in and double-checking his data, were relaxing to perform. He'd gathered it all together to see how much there was to do once he woke up earlier that afternoon, and he was looking forwards to the end of the shift, when he could get a little more done.

"Maybe I could... we could get breakfast after the shift?" Sara offered with studied casualness. Her fingers were gripping the wheel pretty tightly.

Strain. She was tense while she waited for his answer. White-knuckled driving could be anger -- but not in that case -- or merely nerves. Gil flexed his bruised hand, looking down for a moment. "Sara..."

She wanted him. God knew why, and Gil never knew what to do. Never knew why he didn't have the damn spine just to tell her 'no'. It was probably because she was everything he was supposed to want, and so many things that he did want. Just... not for himself.

"Too soon right?" Her voice was a little brittle as she flashed a taut smile. "Maybe we could just... see where things went?"

See where things went. When he was already trying to figure out where he was going with Paul, when he was already trying to wrap his mind around Greg, when he just wasn't good at people and doing that. "Sara, I…" There wasn't anywhere to run, not when they were heading to a scene, and no way just to brush her off as him being busy when he was sitting right beside her. "I… just finished seeing someone else and I…"

"You just finished seeing someone...? Who? Someone from the lab?" She sounded if it were a personal affront. And of course it would be if he'd been secretively dating someone in the lab. Gil sat back, and felt the headrest of the seat compress his hair. It was so easy to imagine that collar back in place... 

He shook that off. "No."

"Oh." That seemed surprising to her somehow. As if she couldn't quite comprehend that he could be seeing someone. "Well I feel like an idiot now."

"Why?"

"Just, you know..." She exhaled. "I thought you were open to offers. And I don't want to hit you on the rebound or anything. I had no idea you were in a relationship with anyone."

"It didn't last long. And I'm not sure that it's over yet." Gil cleared his throat slightly. Please let that just satisfy her.

What it did was worse. It made her sympathetic. "Oh God, Griss, I didn't realize it was like that. Still in the throes of breaking up. You uh... want to talk about it?"

It seemed she was as uncomfortable with giving sympathy as he was at receiving it.

"Not really." He shot her a glance, and managed a wry smile. "And let's be honest, Sara. Neither do you."

"True." She smiled and relaxed a little. "I have the worst timing in the world for this sort of thing."

Gil managed a small shrug of his shoulder, and let his eyes drift out to the road. "At least you're not alone in it."

"It must be part of being an Investigator . Maybe an inability to form long term commitments is a prerequisite.”

Certainly the empirical evidence pointed towards that being a possibility. "It could be. It doesn't help, that... our schedules conflict with most human beings."

"It shouldn't be a surprise that Investigators look to each other," Sara said. "I guess that's why I was surprised about it being outside of work. There's Catherine and Warrick dancing around the edges of things, Greg flirting with everyone who comes his way..." She shrugged her shoulders a little. "I thought when you requested me, there was... anyway. Maybe we should talk about something else."

It shifted from irritating, to amusing, and Gil inclined his head. They still had a while to drive. "Read anything interesting lately?"

"Well there was this one book I read recently, by that guy who works for the Imperial Service who tracks serials, about methods of reading a scene. What were the most successful approaches, which had the highest success rate. Anyway. He had this theory about entering mindsets, as well as reading evidence..."

After that, it was easy for Gil to fall into his work mindset. Discussing a book with Sara made him feel ready for the scene they were going to deal with, and his mind didn't stray back to Collars or anything else that he shouldn't have been thinking about.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Greg had been proud of the way he had lured both Nick and Grissom back to his place and he effortlessly (in his dreams) played the host. He had thought things were going pretty well, and he liked having the both of them there and he'd just been about to suggest that he treat them to some take out or cook something when Grissom made his excuses.

They did sound like excuses to him, in a 'I want out of here' way that punctured his good mood and allowed the back pain he had been keeping at bay with sheer adrenaline to sweep over him. Grissom did not want to be there. Greg had seen him give a rotting corpse a lot more time than his company and the cup of coffee. Maybe he needed a decent brand of coffee. Maybe Grissom just needed a decent brand of Greg, or no Greg at all. That was probably more likely.

Nevertheless he couldn't hide his disappointment after he closed the door and turned back towards Nick.

Nick looked a little confused, and... just a little smug, an expression that Greg wasn't sure belonged on Nick like that. He was still sitting on Greg's sofa, watching him. 

"You look like someone killed your best friend."

"I was kinda hoping he'd stay," Greg admitted as he detoured to get his meds bottle and dry swallowed what seemed like a generous handful of the pills, but was in fact only two of the monster pills. He made a face at the process and then returned to flop a bit dispiritedly on the sofa next to Nick.

"Yeah, I noticed." Nick set his coffee cup down on the plain side table, and then sat back, stretching his arms over the back of Greg's sofa. "You're crushing on him, aren't you?"

Greg looked at him startled for a moment before smiling wryly. "That makes it sound so... teenager-ish."

"I didn't mean it like that," Nick told him as he turned towards Greg slightly. "It's just... It's Grissom."

Greg couldn't help but stare a moment as he tried to process what Nick had just said. "Are you telling me that you are, too?" Nick was crushing on Grissom as well? Well, that would make pretty much the entire lab. Except maybe Warrick. Possibly. "If you tell me you are and Warrick, too, that makes pretty much a full house."

"Nah. Warrick likes women and just women, you know? And I'm pretty sure Hodges wouldn't get in Griss's pants if the opportunity came up, but... You never know." Nick grinned a little lopsidedly. "Hey. You want me to get some dinner or something going?"

"We could order something. I owe you for the dinner you bought when I went back to yours," Greg replied still trying to get a grip on the fact that Nick had a thing for Grissom as well. "How long have you been... you know?"

Nick shifted, and drew his arms off of their stretch over the back of Greg's couch. "Been what?"

"Having a thing for Grissom?" Greg replied reaching for the phone. "What would you like?"

"Something fast? I'm not picky." He slipped his hands between his knees, posture easy. "A while. Sometimes, he's the best guy in the world to work with, and other times you feel like you can't get him to give you the time of day."

"Man, I'm with you there. I mean... did I just say something wrong then? I make him uncomfortable, I know, but..." Greg shrugged a little and pressed one of the speed dials he had managed to program from his exploration of the area. He could remember what Nick had ordered from the nights before and ordered enough for them both. "Hope that's okay," he said afterwards belatedly realizing that he should have asked. In Wesker, he was expected to know and do when someone expressed an interest in getting something to eat unless they specified a difference.

"It's great." Nick was smiling at him when he reclaimed his coffee cup. "I don't think you did anything wrong. Maybe he just, uh... Hell, had an appointment or something."

Greg settled back shifting in against Nick deliberately. "Maybe. Or he gets embarrassed by people making a fool of themselves." Nick smelled nice even after work, which probably meant he had showered before coming home. Either way, it was like he could just relax with him there, and that was easy and great.

"Nah. He's at least blunt." Except with Sara, whose interest was so obvious that everyone in the lab knew it. Nick shifted, and the hand that wasn't holding a coffee cup slid carefully around Greg. "I'm kinda crushing on you, too."

That made Greg still with a shock running through him. He turned to look at him. "Okay, consider me totally out of the loop here. I thought you'd hinted something so I've pretty much offered and you haven't done anything... so I thought I was just, you know, seeing things through a bit of a drug haze. So you are saying you're interested in me?"

"Yeah." Nick grinned, but he looked cautious. "I just didn't want to... I mean, you're still in bad shape, physically, and you just got into a decent House... I didn't really think you meant to add one more big change to your life just now."

Greg felt a surge of excitement and hope. "Nick, I'm not that bad... and, man, you're gorgeous. I mean really hot. I came to at Doc Robbins and was almost immediately having sordid fantasies about you. You've gotta know by now that I can deal with pain." He thought a moment. "Okay, just ignore the fact I woke up and begged for pain killers okay? What I'm trying to say is that... I'd like to uh... explore what you've just said."

Please, please explore it. Nick didn't look like he was going to explore Greg just then, but he did look easy and open-expressioned. "So... we'll explore it. But slow, okay?"

Slow. Slow could be good. "Hey, I'm there for slow," he said grinning, pretty sure he could crack records for slow if he needed to. "Today?"

"Yeah." Yeah, today, and Nick leaned into him just then, hesitant. "Can I kiss you?"

"Nick, you can throw me over the couch and do what you want," Greg replied and then grinned. "Did I say that aloud?"

"Yeah, but I think that'd give the delivery guy a stroke. Work our way up to it, huh?" He leaned in, and this was it. Nick choosing to kiss him, instead of Greg getting a pity peck, or whatever it was he'd wrung out of Nick back at Doc Robbins's.

He wanted it to be so good that Nick wouldn't care about the delivery guy having a stroke, or even about any paramedics that might turn up for the delivery guy having a stroke. He wanted him to be lost in the warmth and heat of a kiss that he could respond to, and as lips touched lips, he settled on working up to that with all the skills he had learned in House Wesker.

Nick probably didn't want to know where Greg had learned to kiss like that. Or if he could guess, then... Greg didn't know. It didn't really matter, because Nick leaned into him gently, lips parting. He tipped his head down, and sucked gently at Greg's bottom lip.

"Nicky..." Greg managed a murmur as those lips drew back a moment before he tilted he head to match the angle and let Nick it as slow as he wanted. Slow was like sweet honey-heat filling his mouth and setting his insides burning with need and heat.

"I just... don't want to hurt you," Nick murmured a little helplessly. Greg thought he might pull back, but Nick just kissed against Greg's jaw, nuzzling against the faint re-growth of stubble.

"You won't, you couldn't..." Greg murmured turning a little to leave his neck exposed. the softness felt all the more powerful for the genuine concern mingles with those kisses. "Please, Nicky... I trust you, I know you wouldn't."

"Not on purpose, but accidentally..." He trailed off talking, and didn't stop touching Greg. It was unreal -- that wasn't supposed to happen to him, someone wasn't supposed to be carefully interested in him.

"Do... you have any idea what a turn on it is to have someone who even gives a shit about that?" Greg replied moving slightly against those warm hands. "Nick, please..."

"What do you want?" It was hard to tell what was going through Nick's mind, but he pulled back, head turning so he could look at Greg directly, in the eyes.

"I want you, I want you to... do what you want to do," Greg replied automatically falling into the responses ingrained into him. He believed them, too. He did want Nick to have what he wanted. All he had to do was tell him what to do and he'd do it. And God, for Nick? He'd love it.

Nick was a nice guy. Greg had been at the lab long enough to know that, long enough for proof that Nick liked to help people and that he had a good heart. He could roll over for Nick real easily. "I think I just want to kiss you right now. And then..." 

Nick didn't give him an 'and then'; he just leaned up.

Kisses with Nick were just like him. Gentle with a hidden strength, a warmth and depth that seemed to go on forever and he kept forgetting to breathe even as his tongue mingled with the other man's in a surprisingly languorous encounter. He was going to be dizzy by the end of this.

He wasn't going to mind being dizzy by the end of it because Nick's hand was sneaking under the edge of his shirt to slide up and over Greg's stomach, rubbing and stroking. "God, you're so hot."

There were the shapes and lines of some bruising there, now spectacularly colored, but making him all the more sensitive to touch. He managed a moan of sorts. "Don't... stop..."

"Doesn't hurt?" Nick husked quietly, pulling back from kissing Greg for the moment. 

"Makes it feel all... tingly," he replied, trying to control his breathing. "Feels good. Like.. supersensitive skin."

"Because you're bruised," Nick murmured, and then he started to unbutton Greg's shirt instead of just shoving it up along his torso. "I can't really make it all better, but I can make you feel better right now, right?"

"You have no idea how you're making me feel right now," Greg breathed shifting to allow him easier access. It was incredible what a difference a hint of genuine emotion could make. "I want you, Nicky."

"It's no rush. I'm not going anywhere." Nick popped buttons, and pushed the shirt open, off of Greg's shoulders a little before he bent down to kiss the hollow of Greg's neck.

Even if Nick didn't want him forever, this was too good to ever forget. Every touch made him want to move and latch on to the other man, and pressed against him. He wanted him in him, over him, on him, just never going away. Greg wanted Nick to leave bruises, hand-prints, hickies, the good stuff, even if he thought Nick would never do it on purpose. He still wanted it. Wanted whatever he could get from Nick. Nick groaned against his skin, sucked, fingers of one hand drifting to rub over Greg's left nipple while the other started to undo his belt.

He started to move his own hands then, over the soft fuzz of the shortness of Nick's hair at the nape of his neck and the down beneath his shirt. He could feel muscles there, strength that was all the more astounding because of the gentleness with which the other man was touching him. An intense suck made him gasp and clutch at him. "God yeah..."

"You're so sexy, Greg. I could do this all day." Kissing over the flare of his collar bone, and a slight downward tip of Nick's head brushed his nose against Greg's skin, a turn of his head was cheek and faint stubble against skin before he kissed over to the muscles of his shoulder.

Vanilla-sex made him squirm.

He'd always liked the taste of vanilla. It was possibly his favorite flavor right now. It was like one of those impossible romantic porn movies that he'd seen. Lips on sensitive bruises as Nick tasted them softly, checking that he wasn't going to scream.

He wasn't going to, not yet. If he did later, it would be for different reasons. He should be doing this to him, convincing him never to go, to leave him because he was good. "Knock yourself out..."

"I might just," Nick laughed. Right next to his nipple, an odd vibration that made Greg feel hotter. But Nick's head jerked a little when there was a knock on the door.

"Fuck." Greg groaned. "Pretend we don't need to eat. Pretend it's not us. Just don't stop."

Nick sat back, though, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "It's cool. We can get back to this after I answer the door." And then he started to stand, clearly moving to do just that.

Greg lay back considering whether to hurl himself after Nick or not. He was too breathless and he managed to sprawl out and call "Take the money from my jacket, Nick. My treat."

"Okay. Okay..." Nick let his wallet slide back down into the back of his pants, and lifted his hands a little as he reached for Greg's jacket while simultaneously opening the door. It didn't take long for him to complete the transaction, trading money for food, and the delivery woman giving Nick a smile before he closed the door.

"She was flirting with you, man," Greg called out mindful of the fact that lying there with his pants nearly unbuckled, his shirt pulled open was probably a little beyond flirting. "You're going to make me eat before we do anything else, aren't you?"

"Hey, how'd you guess that?" Nick set the boxes of take-out on Greg's table. "I'll get plates and shit. Like I said, it's no rush..." No rush, no pressure. Nick wasn't going just to fuck him on the sofa and then leave. No, Nick wasn't that kind of guy. 

Maybe he was the kinda guy that if he invited him into his bed, he wouldn't skip out after. "Great. I'll reassure various parts of me that you're the type of guy who doesn't fall asleep after eating, then."

Greg could hear Nick moving around in the kitchen. The crack and fizz he heard meant that Nick was opening a bottle of soda instead of beer -- so Nick liked his seductions sober. That was kinda neat. "Nah, only after sex."

"So you're going to lie on top of me and snore?" Greg responded, smiling to himself. He could just imagine that and Nick's warm weight over him. Yeah, that would be good.

"If it's an open invitation, after last night's shift? I'm up to that with or without sex. Robbers do the most fucked up shit, you know?" Nick walked back into the living room, carrying two glasses of Mountain Dew and two paper plates with a couple of forks balanced on top of them.

"Yeah? I didn't catch the details of your case. There was a bit of a backlog there. Crime was waiting for the boss to come back and then went into overdrive," Greg said, hastily unpacking their order and forgetting to do his shirt back up again. Some of the urgency had faded off but he could still feel the need in him for Nick to finish what he started.

"Three gunwomen walk into a casino, but wait -- it gets better. They're men. Except Catherine thinks one is a woman dressing as a man who's dressing as a woman So they shot the place up, grabbed a crate of money, and ran for it." Nick settled down on the couch beside Greg, close beside him.

"That's a good disguise," Greg said. "Help yourself. I ordered plenty and Warrick told me it was a good place."

"Number one take-out," Nick grinned as he popped open the box of rice, and then started to pry open a box of General Pow's chicken. "So, how were things in the lab today?"

"Well, there was some stuff in from Grissom and Sara, and your transmission fluid... which by the way, you know way to much about cars, Nicky," Greg said even as he scooped the food onto his plate. He still hadn't got used to the fact he could just eat whenever he wanted and every time it felt like a decadent luxury. "I told Griss about the trace potato on the bullet from your robbery and he and Catherine started going on about that girl who was kidnapped from House Felton, by that unBonded guy? You remember that?"

"Yeah. They think it's her?" Nick shook his head a little. For all that they'd talked about cases on the way back home, it hadn't come up. Gil had been saying how the store had a fake camera, and Sara tried to move the body, and if Greg thought about it, he'd say he'd sounded at the end of his rope.

Of course, eight hours in the middle of nowhere with Sara would've left Greg a little at the end of his rope, too.

"Yeah. Looks like you and Griss will be working the same case tomorrow," Greg replied through a partial mouthful. "Man, this is good. you better hope I don't forget what we were doing a minute ago and just decide to eat all night."

"We'll run out of food eventually," Nick murmured after spearing a forkful of rice with a little chicken. He seemed to be eating it with a relish, but Greg was going to stick to his beef and broccoli.

"Mmm. I'll have to take you up on your offer of working out because if I eat like this every night I'm gonna put on weight. Big time," Greg replied, swallowing. Okay, he could broach casual, make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. "You know, after this? Rolling around in takeout left over might destroy the mood. We could… uh, use the bed."

Nick's mouth twitched, and he looked down into his box for a second before he dumped it out onto the plate properly. "Greg? You can just say it outright. You don't have to make excuses. But yeah."

Greg shrugged. "Sorry. Beds were like... the only private zone we had. Sometimes even that would get invaded you know? You didn't invite people to your bed unless you really trusted them." Sometimes he woke up and found them there, when they knew he couldn't make a fuss and it was best just to let it happen. Sometimes it was someone he liked and he was grateful for it, but most of the time he fought for his little space of privacy.

It took a little of the amusement off of Nick's face. "Well... now you've got a whole apartment to call your private zone. And, uh..." He chewed for a moment, and washed it down with soda. "Just tell me if I overstep your boundaries at any time, okay?"

"I have boundaries?" Greg asked. He shrugged a little. "Nick it's okay. I can't imagine that you would do anything that would push any of my comfort zones. You get used to things. What I'm not used to is.. being treated like this."

"I like to be accommodating with people, but..." Nick shifted, turning a little so he could better look at Greg. His eyes were intense, trained on Greg. "I'm not going to treat you like shit just because it's what you're used to."

"Nicky, I don't think you could if you wanted to try," Greg replied. There was no way he could picture Nick doing some of the things that had been done. He wouldn't mind him doing some of the good stuff. "You've got to understand, I'm wired up pretty freaky. Part of what I was talking about."

"I dunno, you seem wired pretty much like everyone else I know," Nick countered. "You like being treated well. So..."

Greg hesitated a little. Yeah he did like that, but he also had that slightly less than vanilla urge to be treated like... well, like a Personal. But if he told Nick that it might put him off, and if he didn't, then Nick would feel he had been lied to when it did come out. "Okay, uh... look when you were kissing around the bruises earlier? I was thinking that I wanted you to make some of your own... good ones, you know? That sort of thing."

"Oh. Huh." Nick ducked his head down, and grinned before he looked up at Greg. "Well, you know, depending on how they were made, bruises are okay."

Greg found himself grinning back. God, Nick just was… gorgeous when he did that. He wanted to pounce on him and never let go. "I like the sound of that. I'm geared up to take anything that's given and to like it. More than that, to want it." 

Which was a lot of information to drop on Nick, but... Nick just nodded. There, maybe he'd finally said it in a way that made sense, because there seemed to be some dawning sense of understanding in Nick's eyes. Like it clicked.

"Now that you have choices, you can choose to be with people who'd give, but not... hurt you, you know. It kinda... like what Lady Heather said. There's a right way and a wrong way to do even that."

"I'm more than willing to try it," Greg said finishing a mouthful. "And I can lure you to the dark side too."

"When your back's healed up," Nick admonished gently, after a swig of the soda. "Speaking of which, you probably need to change the pads. I'm more than willing to help. I know it's a pain in the ass to do it yourself."

"All this and sex, too," Greg replied grinning happily. "What did I do to deserve you?"

The truth was he honestly didn't know. He could think of no good reason why Nick was doing all this, or wanted him. He had a nagging conviction that there was only a certain type of person interested in him, and Nick was not one of those people.

"Dunno. Must've been fantastic, though, huh?" Nick leaned into him, then, and Greg was glad he had his fork down, because Nick moved unerringly to kiss him.

He tasted of the the food and any lingering doubts that Greg had that he might lose the mood vanished as it surged back at the heat of that kiss. Glad his plate was on the table, he leaned forwards into the kiss, then, wrapping arms around the other man and drawing him closer.

"You know... we could heat this up again later..." he managed finally when he came up for air.

"Yeah, you know? That sounds like a good idea." Nick was finally getting it in all ways -- that Greg might like things a little out of the vanilla area, that sometimes touch was more important than finishing a meal.

He shouldn't have been too surprised when Nick slid his arms carefully around Greg and started to herd him off of the sofa.

It was easy for him to follow his lead and then guide him off towards his bedroom. It was a nice big bedroom with a double bed and in the time he had been alone, he had spent a fair amount of time just lying in there feeling the space around him, trying to adjust. Walking and making out was, in his opinion, proof he could multitask.

"Fuck, yes..." Nick almost made the two of them do a pirouette when they got into the room, so that he landed on the bed first instead of toppling over on Greg and his hurt back.

"With... moves like that, you sure Catherine hasn't been giving you lessons?" Greg asked comfortable on that warm solid body. This time he was going to get into Nick's shirt and reach skin before Nick had all his fun. Those muscles were too good to miss.

"Real sure." Nick clutched at either side of Greg's waist, and pulled at him, trying to get them comfortable. "Hey, lemme get your shirt off right this time."

"Mmm, I'm not going to argue about that," Greg replied settling easily. "You're so damn hot, Nick, all hard smooth lines and..." He dived in for another kiss.

Hard smooth lines, and eager fingers that unbuttoned Greg's shirt again, making him lean back and away for a moment, breaking the kiss long enough for him to shrug out of the shirt and for Nick to peel off his own t-shirt.

They were a study in contrasts. Nick had a healthy looking color to his skin and Greg only had to glance at himself a moment as feelings of inferiority welled up. The only color he had was the liberal dark rainbow pattern of bruises all over him. Nick deserved a body to match his own. 

"I... sorry, I'm not a pretty sight..."

"You are. You are... a very pretty, hot sight, Greggo." He traced on hand along Greg's side, gentle over his bruises.

"Oh, this turns you on?" Greg teased him a little, half lidding his eyes as he concentrated on the sensation. "I hope so, because I have been for a while now."

"You turn me on," Nick grinned, looking up at Greg before he curled up a little to kiss him, a faint teasing brush.

"That's a good coincidence seeing as how you're in bed with me," Greg replied wanting to squirm again. There was just something about the experience that was so much more fun than he was used to. Intense, hot and fun vanilla flavored sex. He planned to add it to his daily diet.

"How about that?" Nick's finger skimmed down to he waistband of Greg's pants, and he slipped his thumbs in to the edges, while he kept leaning up to Greg, kissing against the edge of his jaw. That was what that washboard stomach was for, definitely, so Nick could lean up like that so smoothly.

"Y-You know, I haven't even asked you what you'd like..." Greg managed in and around some of his more involuntary noise. He was a little embarrassed that the first time Nick actually touched him right there with fingers delving towards his cock, his sound of encouragement was more like a squeak that any sexy moan. The sensation had genuinely startled him, though; he was more used to being grabbed roughly, which was sometimes good, but light fingers somehow made him burn.

"Just a little fun," Nick murmured. Ah, his lips were touching just in front of Greg's ear, and then traced down to suck at his earlobe. "Want to touch you, kiss you, whatever..."

"Knock yourself out, man, I think I can just about stand it," Greg replied smiling even as he allowed himself to move a little more under the other man. "It's a tough job..."

"But someone has to do it?" Nick breathed, voice falling husky against his ear. Fingers were just inside of his waistband, pressing against his stomach.

"Yeah... C'mon, Nicky, you're driving me crazy here..." Greg pushed up against him. "Don't you want to know how it feels to be in me? Haven't you imagined it before, how tight and hot it would be?"

He really hoped he had, otherwise he would feel like a bit of an idiot. He'd once daydreamed that conversation with Grissom, only to have the daydream Grissom say, 'No. I haven't. I'll get a temperature probe'.

Which was also hot in a really, really freaky way.

"Yeah... I bet you're amazing," Nick murmured, starting to unbutton and unzip Greg's jeans before he pushed them down. "But there's a lot of other stuff you can do..."

"Nick, I can personally run DNA and trace faster than any tech in the country but I'm not intending to do that as part of the process..." Greg murmured, wriggling a bit as the patterning of bruises continued there, and the leg he favored was particularly bad. He didn't care. "I want you... I need you..."

He got a faint laugh from Nick before fingers wrapped around his dick through his boxers. "I kind of meant sex-wise, but should I look for a centrifuge hidden under your bed?"

"There's a kink I wasn't expecting," Greg managed even as he gulped down "Oh, God, Nick..."

Nick tugged at Greg with his other hand, pulling him so he'd lay on top of him while he squirmed his hand between underwear and bare skin. "You feel like steel."

"Tempered steel with an aluminum coating," Greg grinned. "You make me hard Nicky, with that soft voice and... big... uh.... hands." Greg jolted against him at the contact of one of those hands flesh to flesh. "Nnh..." The rest of Nick's name eluded him a moment. So much for his vaunted training and control. It was generally a lot easier when he was being controlled. Right now, he felt like a teenager having a hormone rush.

Of course, Nick didn't really seem to be trying to control him. No rules, no constraints, just a hand starting to slowly pump his erection while Nick shifted them both a little so they could kiss while he masturbated Greg.

"Mm.." He tried to speak but there was mouthful of Nick there. "Nick..." Aw hell, he'd just have to roll with it. At this rate, he was going to come everywhere before they'd even done much.

"It'll take the edge off," Nick whispered, before he slipped his tongue back into Greg's mouth. Yeah, taking the edge off sounded like a great idea, particularly when Nick's thumb slipped over the head of Greg's cock, playing with the loose skin beneath the flared head.

There was nothing to do but aid and abet the process avidly and he could do that. He didn't bother to hold back in any way, and found himself practically devouring Nick's mouth in time with the thrusting movements he was making into his hand. Not that he was consciously aware he was doing either; all he was conscious of were sensations and sounds and a growing hungry need as if he had been presented with a feast after a lifetime of famine.

No pain, no one lording themselves over him, no pressure. Just Nick kissing him, tasting his mouth, his hand moving steadily, up down. Greg's hips pressed against the fabric of Nick's pants, and it was going to be a mess that he'd have to wash to get out.

He'd worry about that when the time came. Or he did. From the feel of it, it was going to be soon.

Greg gasped into the other man's mouth, and pushed hard against the solid body holding him and came in a wonderful painless release that had him dizzy for a long moment even as he cried out. Words completely failed him. All he could think was that if a hand-job was that good, he wasn't sure if he would survive anything else.

He might have just said that aloud. It was difficult to tell how much of his brains had leaked out with his climax.

Nick's fingers were loosely curled around him still, and lips pressed against Greg's cheekbone. It didn't seem to matter that he'd come all over Nick's pants. "That's the best compliment I've ever heard."

"I did say that aloud then," Greg said weakly smiling at him. "Damn, you're good, Nicky. Give me a little R and R here and I'll try and show you what I'm feeling like."

"Sure." Nick gave him one last stroke, and then moved his hand around to rest on Greg's ass, shifting to get comfortable on the mattress. "I like this, too."

Greg smiled. "I'm not kidding Nicky, I don't know what I did to deserve this." In his own head, it didn't make sense. Things like this never happened to him.

"You don't have to do anything to deserve nice things," Nick murmured, pressing kisses to his face. Lazy, slow, nice.

It would be nice to believe that, but he didn't through off a lifetime of conditioning just like that. But for now he would relax and enjoy this miracle that was happening to him. And then in a moment, he would give Nick a blow job that he would never forget. He smirked a little at that. The image of Nicky dazed and blissed out with that slow wide smile on his face would be worth everything.

"Just as well, otherwise I wouldn't have you," Greg murmured half to himself. "You think you're ready for a dose of your own medicine?"

Nick's fingers lazily stirred, stroking over the small of Greg's back, and he could feel him grin.

"Sure."

* * *

Life had gone back to normal.

When Gil hadn't been looking, Life had decided to be normal again. Or whatever the newest configuration of the word meant. Normal could span a number of things, Gil knew, and what he'd done for that week almost over two weeks ago could've been called normal, in a way. It could've been his idea of normal.

Except two phone calls to Paul had hit his answering machine, and he hadn't heard anything back. That… well, it was a message without words, effective and clear, and Gil wasn't going to let it bother or affect him. Paul was busy, after all. Paul was busy, and everyone…

Everyone was just busy. Greg had been settling into the House with Nick's eager help, and now that Greg felt more settled in, he was hosting this dinner. Gil wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a thank you dinner, or a general celebration, but he'd had the feeling that between Greg knowing that he had the day off, and Greg living in the same building, if he begged out of it, he'd never live it down.

He had to admit it was a good restaurant; it made him wonder if Catherine knew she had some influence with Sam Braun because it usually had booking well in advance, and probably didn't have to put up with the sort of riotous behavior a group of Investigators, some just about to go on shift, and the rest merrily preparing for time out, could bring to such a distinguished establishment. So far, they had mildly scandalized the onlookers by forcing Brass to wear a House Braun insignia made out of a drawn-on napkin before he could eat. There was avid discussion of a recent autopsy by Doc Robbins and everyone there had undoubtedly removed pate from everyone else's menu choice. And he was constantly amazed at how Greg could just engage everyone in conversation all the time.

Greg was good at it, talking wildly, avidly, about just about anything. And when he couldn't contribute, he was or at least seemed to be genuinely interested in the topic.

It was easy to relax between the conversation and the wine, and Gil was determined to enjoy things, adding his own wild story of a case gone silly while he ate part of his steak.

After all, in his time at the lab perhaps only Doc Robbins would have seen things of equivalent weirdness. "If you bring up the black widow story again guys, I'm going to forbid you to tell it ever again," Catherine raised her voice. "He's heard that one."

"I liked Griss's one about funding the body farm playing poker," Greg replied grinning at him.

"Body farms are cool," Sara said sipping at her drink. "I've always wanted to go to the one near Vegas."

"Next time we have a reason to be out there, I'll take you," Gil told her. He put his fork down, grinning sideways at Jim. "I remember the first time I took Jim out there. You remember that? The body in the truck...?"

Jim snorted a little, his fake House Braun insignia slipping. "I'm not likely to forget that one. There's always some wise guy that thinks that a body farm is a good place to dump a DB. And I'm walking around there and Gil starts yelling at me. So I'm thinking, what? What'd I do? Not like I'm disturbing anything. And he gives me one of those Grissom looks of doom -- you know the ones..."

The entire table nodded in unison and started chuckling as Brass continued.

"What he didn't tell me was that I had been standing under this treed body and as I walked over, he pointed to my shoulder... and I look at it, and I could see this...."

He put his hand behind his shoulder and wiggled his fingers. "A damn chorus line of the biggest corpse eating beetles are lined up on my shoulder like they're gonna do a headliner show..."

"Carpet beetles," Gil cut in. "They were feeding on this hanging body, and it was only natural that a few drop onto Jim since he was standing under it. He screamed so loud that the grounds keeper came running to see if someone’d been killed."

"Yeah, well you were no help. All you did was push me backwards and, when you stopped laughing, gave me an earful about how I could have cross contaminated the body in the truck." Brass gave a twisted grin. "Meanwhile there's a carpet beetle -- I prefer corpse beetle myself -- that obviously decided there was no future in high kicking it on the stage and looking to get out of the game and set up home in my ear. We needed a tweezers extraction. I think he kept that beetle as a pet."

"Marti was a loyal carpet beetle, until Nick gave him a little too much food when I was at a conference, and he over-ate," Gil shared with a note of fake-mourning in his voice.

"He probably looked hungry," Greg added.

"Grissom's insect collection always look hungry," Catherine said. "We used to spread rumors that he fed them newbie Investigators. He nearly got Sara with donating a pint of blood though."

"I've seen him do that before," Sara said with a smile. "And Warrick tipped me off."

"Hey, I do use that for legitimate experiments," Gil defended after a mouthful of wine. "No one new gets into the office without me hitting them up for a donation. I've gotten Warrick three times."

"I was feeling magnanimous. Anyway, it's a hell of a lot better than the rotting stuff in the fridge."

"I haven't been tapped yet," Greg pointed out his eyes flicking over behind Grissom and showing a brief moment of shock. "Uh... not that I'm volunteering."

"Yes," Gil grinned as he sat back, glancing over to where Greg was sitting beside Nick, "Oh yes, you have."

"What I've already been tapped or I'm volunteering?" Greg asked looking around.

"Sorry man," Warrick shook his head. "You get an Investigator increment, that means you're his." He nodded towards Grissom. "Experiments and all."

"That includes the time where he hands you a bucket and gives you a meaningful look towards the bathroom," Nick groaned.

"Only the guys have to do that," Sara snickered. She was a little drunk, Gil decided, and leaning on his side a little heavily, but he wasn't going to say anything. The round booth they'd been seated in was comfortable, ideal for a group like them.

If Greg hadn't have looked so startled as someone walked past, and then Nick -- whose emotions played all over his face at the best of times -- hadn't been so obviously trying to be casual, he wouldn't have looked up and noticed who had just entered the restaurant.

The background conversation faded a little as he saw a familiar looking figure.

Jim said something about traumatizing the lab, and Warrick laughed, but Gil's focus shifted to Paul, and he shifted slightly, eyes tracking him. He was dressed very well, insignias and ring in place, smiling an easy smile, and Gil could feel a visceral tug that turned to a sinking feeling as he realized that the beautiful leggy brunette woman who was adjusting her stockings on the other side of Paul was holding his hand.

Oh.

There was nothing as desperate as the sensation of excuses made on behalf of someone else dissolving away and leaving a very bitter taste in his mouth. Still he could be wrong.

They might just be business acquaintances, even if she looked dressed to kill.

"...Anyway, Some of us better get going. Stokes, stop groping the new members of House Braun. No matter what you've told him, we don't shake hands like that in our House," Catherine was saying.

"Well, most of us don't," Al noted perceptively. He dug into his wallet, and tossed money onto the table. "I'm sure there's a backlog of bodies for me to get to from dayshift."

But did business acquaintances hold hands? No, particularly not with Paul. Gil had to force himself to turn his head away.

"And where the dregs of humanity, like bitter coffee grounds, sour the smoothness of a Vegas night, I'll be there," Brass intoned, throwing his money into the pot too. He winked at Greg. "Good to have you on board, Sanders."

"Thanks... uh, thanks for coming everyone, and for everything," Greg said as half the group prepared to leave.

More than half, if Gil counted. He reached for his own wallet, and smiled at Greg. "Thank you for inviting us all out like this, Greg, and welcome to the House. I'd stay, but I have to get something finished and out into the mail by tomorrow morning, so... Going to make the most of my night off." Walk past Paul, maybe, see if he could read something off of the man's face so he'd know if he was just making a fool of himself with those phone calls.

Sara very nearly put her hand on his arm to stop him, but was distracted by the mass exodus. It meant that Greg's appreciation was drowned out in the sounds of a large group of people breaking up a night out. Ideal cover for him to slip away.

Millander was only just being seated. It looked like they had taken in a show before coming out for a late meal.

He didn't even know why he was bothering, as he broke away from the group a little, not caring if any of them saw him while he walked off. Gil needed to know, even if he wasn't sure that he was entitled to any answer at all. At the heart of it, it had been a sale. Paul had 'bought' him for a week, and that was that, and people didn't owe property anything. If Paul had wanted to, he could have treated Gil horribly and it would have been fine, expected.

Except that it had gone the exact opposite way, and Gil had been trying to figure out what kind of terms would work, be really workable, because he wanted... to be needed. Something. He straightened his posture, and sidestepped a waiter.

It was enough of a movement to attracted Millander's attention and he turned and when he realized who it was, he smiled at him. That same smile. "Gil! What a pleasant surprise meeting you here. How are you?"

Gil stretched for something showy, and faltered a little, managing a smaller, hesitant smile. "Great. Some of us from the department were just properly welcoming our newest House-mate. How are you?"

"I've been doing very well since we last met," Paul replied. "I have to admit, I've barely been in." He glanced over at his companion and smiled, a glowing sort of infatuation in his look. "I have you to thank for that. Your... support and assistance."

It was a little like being kicked in the balls, but Gil managed to keep the smile in place, managed not to react with much more than that hesitant smile. "It was nothing. R... really." He gave the woman a wider smile, and then looked back to Paul. "I should get going. It's good to see you again. I hope the two of you have a good night."

"I'll just walk you out," Millander replied. "Excuse me a moment." He stood overpoweringly close to Gil, the scent of him the same as it had been for that week, his touch the same as he patted him on the arm.

Apparently two weeks hadn't been long enough, because he wanted to drop to his knees and latch onto Paul, beg him for... Anything. Fuck. It felt like his last realistic chance at anything like that had just slipped through his fingers, but Gil still turned, willing to let Paul pull him along.

He probably just wanted to make sure that Gil did leave.

"Gil, I just wanted to really thank you," Millander said in a low voice. "I admit, I'm amazed at what a difference the experience has made to me. Suddenly, I could... connect with people. I found myself talking and... with my current companion, Wendy it was incredible. What we have in common. She's a transgender, too, but never admitted it, and there we were suddenly the pair of us admitting our experiences to each other. And I could do that, thanks to you."

And what kind of asshole would Gil be not to be happy for Paul?

"You're welcome," Gil managed to say. "I'm happy for you."

It was the same story. Those happy with their lot could rarely see unhappiness in another. Paul smiled at him. "I'll see you in Court, Gil. Maybe we can take coffee during the break, catch up."

He was being offered friendship when he wanted more.

"Sure. That sounds great." Gil just wished that he could stop that tugging feeling, that feeling of being drawn in, because he couldn't have it. The light wasn't his to circle anymore, and Gil had lost track of how to follow the moon. "Have a good night, Paul. I'm glad that things are working out for you." He stuck his hand out, offering a shake as they neared the door. It was time to bolt for it. In time, he'd shake that need, he'd have to. He'd just have to, if he wanted to function in Court, if he wanted to function. No Investigator Supervisor should want… that. No matter how normal it was, it wasn't normal for Gil. Greg had seemed unsettled by the mere suggestion that Gil would want that, and Catherine had… been angry at him. They hadn't talked privately since that talk, and the tangible feeling of her anger at him still lingered.

Millander shook his hand, obviously seeing nothing wrong at all with what he was saying. He looked and sounded happy and he even walked with more energy as he returned to Wendy, which left Gil with nothing to stay for, and no last hope to cling to. All those half thought of plans and possibilities evaporated in one moment, leaving him with a hollow feeling where hope should have been.

That... that was why he didn't bother to try to connect with people as more than friends. Gil pushed the door open with a little too much force, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe he could walk it off, walk off the stress, and then head home to work on his revisions.

He was a little way out of the restaurant when he heard the sort of hop skip sound of someone half trying to run to catch up with him, and not wanting to break into a full sprint. "Hey, Grissom!"

It took effort not to ignore that someone was calling his name, took effort to make himself turn around when he was walking in the exact opposite direction of the parking lot. Gil still turned, twisted... Greg.

"Thought I was going to miss you. I, uh... could I get a lift back with you?" he asked he got closer. "It seemed stupid to make one of the others drop me home when you said you were going straight back. But... if you're doing something else I won't bother you."

Gil just wanted a little alone time, a little time to think and push down what he'd just seen, what had just happened. Except that it was mental and not physical, and telling Greg he just wanted to wander the Strip for a few hours would probably be taken with offense. 

"No, I, uh... Wasn't really doing anything. So, sure."

"Only, I noticed we're kinda heading out into Vegas rather than to your car," Greg said after a moment looking at him with a faint hint of concern in his expression.

"I wanted to go the long way back to my car," Gil offered a little lamely as he fisted his hands inside of his pockets. Gil turned then, facing Greg, and gestured with his head for him to turn around. He could shake off the stress some other way.

They headed back towards the car, and all he could sense from Greg was some sort of concern or worry. He wasn't sure why, but he wasn't feeling very communicative even as Greg made small talk to fill the notable silences.

"So… uh, it went pretty well, I thought... I was going to have a party up in my apartment but Nick said I'd end up paying for everything that way. And people had to go into work..." Greg said randomly.

"It went well," Gil assured him. It had been fun, until he'd let his own hopes and expectations take a notch out of him. "Really. It was a nice evening."

"Yeah. Only you uh..." Greg looked at him. "Don't seem too happy."

Which was why Gil had just wanted to disappear and walk for a few hours. Blend into the city until it went away, but Gil couldn't do that. He could just reach for his keys. "I ran into Paul."

"I thought I saw him. I wasn't sure," Greg replied almost apologetically. "Wanna talk about it?"

He stepped a little ahead of Greg as he headed for the parking Garage, but he held the door open for Greg. "No."

"...right," Greg said getting inside without saying anything more, at least not until Gil got in the drivers seat and started the engine. 

"You should."

Gil dredged up a tired smile once he'd started the engine, and made sure that Greg was buckled in. "There isn't much to say. I definitely won't be leaving the lab anytime soon." Not anytime soon, but ever.

"Well that's great news for all of us," Greg said as they pulled away. "But, shit man, he shouldn't mess with you like that."

"He wanted to thank me," Gil murmured, checking his mirrors before he pulled out into Las Vegas' seemingly never-ending state of traffic. "Why... do you say that he was messing with me?"

"Griss, one moment you were fine, the next you look like you've had a bad shock, or heard someone's died," Greg said. "Pretty natural conclusion. And… what was that thank you? A 'lets be friends' thank you? Because they suck."

"They do suck," Gil agreed blandly. He checked the side mirror again, and merged over to the turning lane, stopping behind another vehicle at the red light. At least Paul had found someone with the same sense of gender identity problems. That... that was something, because Gil could be as understanding as he wanted to be, and it wouldn't help that. It was better this way, he told himself.

"You need to talk about it, Gil," Greg said in a strangely solemn sounding tone. "Tell you what. I'll come in when we get back or something and you can vent."

If he vented every time that he'd deluded himself into thinking that he had a realistic chance in hell with someone, Gil was fairly sure that he would've spent more time in his life doing that than he'd spent working on crimes. "I appreciate the offer, Greg, but there's nothing for me to vent."

"Someone else might not know better and believe that, but I do know better," Greg replied. Gil could see the way he turned an intense gaze on him. He seemed serious.

"No, there's really nothing for me to logically be angry about, Greg. There's nothing to vent." Nothing except that he was a deluded fool, and he didn't need to be saying that in from of his subordinates.

"Bullshit, man," Greg challenged that. "I know what that sort of thing feels like. So maybe you're tougher than I am or whatever, but there's no way that you're just feeling nothing."

"Take your experience, Greg, and then imagine another twenty years of being the nice guy who... of course is fine with being friends, never having a call returned is fine, no offense taken, and for whom being stood up is a normal part of dating." He kept his eyes on the road, instead of on whatever Greg's facial expression was. "It's tiring. It's easier not to feel, because I'm apparently an idiot for ever even thinking..."

"For ever even thinking what?" Greg pushed a little, seeming not to react to the first revelations.

That he'd ever have that easy connection with another human being that seemed to be so simple for everyone else. That he'd ever fall in love with someone who felt the same way, instead of falling for the completely impossible -- like Catherine, or Teri, or Paul, or any of the other hundred bad dates that Gil didn't want to think about and didn't want to name names to. He shook his head, not wanting to answer that. "That I'm not lacking whatever it is that everyone else has that keeps other people from moving on so fast."

"Okay, Griss, we really need to sit down and have a long talk," Greg replied after a moments pause. "You’re not lacking. Really. I know you don't really like me that much on a personal level, but... I can tell you, you're definitely very attractive."

He almost went for the bait of a compliment, but Gil caught what Greg had said before that. "Why do you think that I don't like you on a personal level? What gave you that idea?"

"You… kinda give me a look. I irritate you," Greg shrugged. "That's fine. I told you that before. I try too hard and..." He shrugged again. "It's fine."

"You don't irritate me. You... sometimes exasperate me, but that's different. Hodges irritates me." Because he wasn't sure what look Greg was talking about, so maybe a proper working example of someone who did irritate Gil would help Greg see what was and wasn't irritation.

"Well... anyway. Like I'm saying, you're attractive," Greg repeated. "Seriously. If I thought you'd be interested... but, anyway. Look, I was trying to tell you I know the feeling that happens when you've been a Personal and your master moves on. It feels like... you're empty, worthless. That sort of thing. If that had been me in one of those situations? I would have been on my knees, public place or not, clinging to his ankles. In fact, I've done that. But it was in-House so I guess it isn't real public."

"I did it in public," Gil grimaced. "Not... just then, but at that party." And Ecklie had seen, which made Gil very glad that he'd been studiously avoiding Ecklie since then. He didn't have to tell Greg that the urge to drop to his knees and hold onto Paul had been immense, but there was no point in embarrassing them both because Gil was an idiot.

"You were being a Personal, Griss." Greg shook his head. "Nick might not know what goes on at those sort of things, but I do. Wesker ran their own version. You had to do stuff, right? And it made you want the comfort and protection of your Master. That's perfectly natural."

Do stuff. Right. Gil nodded to the last few things that Greg had said, and saw the light ahead turn yellow. He eased off of the gas, and coasted up behind the vehicle in front of him. "It was only a week. It's... been two weeks since then. I shouldn't have wanted to drop to the floor in the restaurant and beg him not to say what he was saying."

There was no snort of amazement or sound of surprise from Greg which was hard to understand. "How long does it take to get hooked on drugs? If you found someone who had been shooting enough cocaine or heroin to stay high for a week, would you think they could just walk away? Not be looking for a fix? Don't get me wrong, Griss. I really hoped that it was the real thing for your sake. It can happen, I guess. But it helps if you think of the thing as an experience high."

Brilliant, but artificial. Gil shifted, leaned back in the seat slightly, and tried not to feel like he'd been wrong the whole time. "Which was what it was."

"Yeah. It's makes the crash down pretty damn hard. That's why the suicide statistics on Personals are high if they get sold," Greg said. "Trust me, Griss, there are lots of people would jump at the chance of being with you. Not that you'd necessarily want to be with them, but it's still evidence right?"

Evidence, sure. There was Sara, of course. There was... always Sara. Except he knew that if he ever did anything towards her, she'd do exactly what everyone else did, and he didn’t want to lose her a friend. He was just lucky that Catherine had meant it when she'd said that they were better friends than anything else.

"I understand that, but... I really have bad luck with that kind of thing."

"I'm on that, too...." Greg replied. He smiled a little. "I can tell you of three people who would give their eyeteeth for a chance to be with you. At least three."

"Until," Gil cut in, "the moment where I actually went somewhere with one of these probably fictional three people, and failed to live up to some expectation."

"Fictional? Fictional? Hey, I'll have you know they're pretty damn real," Greg replied. "You want to test the theory, one of them isn't a million miles away from where you are now."

"Oh yes?" It was strange that mocking himself a little had helped puff up his confidence, but it worked and Gil wasn't going to ask questions.

"Yeah," Greg replied and swallowed. "There a certain DNA lab-tech who's always had a thing for his boss, so much that he's so desperate for his approval it's not even funny."

"Su..." Gil trailed off mid-dismissal as it sank in. The only DNA tech they had for his shift was Greg, and-- 

"But Nick..."

"Who will be number two out of the three, and the last you probably know already," Greg replied. "Seeming as how she was one step shy of slipping her hands in your pants at dinner. So. Yeah. There's probably more, but I know about those."

"... I'm not sure when Sara ever tried to put her hands down my pants," Gil offered to break the awkwardness after Greg's confession. So Greg and Nick... both? But why...? it didn't make any sense, not to Gil at least. They were both handsome young men, they had similar interests, they clearly got along well, because periodically during dinner Gil had watched playful shoves and inside jokes.

"She was close, man, one more glass of wine and little Grissom down there would have been fighting for freedom," Greg grinned as he said it, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"That's an apt way to say it." He was glad that he already had both hands on the wheel, because it kept him from doing anything stupid. Like swerving. "Look, uh..."

"It's okay, I don't expect you to do anything with that information," Greg cut in hastily. "It was just an example. But…yeah. "

"No, I, uh..." Gil swallowed, slowing down as he turned to pull onto the road that would eventually take them off towards the apartment complex where they both lived. Once he was on the road, he pressed the gas again. "Was just wondering if you still want to have coffee."

"Well, one way or another, I'm not leaving you alone tonight. Even if I camp on your couch," Greg said. "So coffee would be great."

"Okay." He spared a brief sideways glance at Greg. "Why aren't you leaving me alone tonight, again...? Just refresh my memory."

"Because I care about how you're feeling." That sounded like it was a confession wrenched out of him. "And you get there alone, and it'll hit you harder. The thing with Millander and being a Personal."

He was right, and Gil understood that Greg was right and that Greg... knew he was right. "I'm going to end up boring you. I really do have to get those book revisions out tomorrow morning." And hope that Wayne was going to hold up his end of the deal. And even if he wasn't, well... Gil couldn't bring himself to care. It had gotten him off of his ass and made him finish something he'd been meaning to do for a long time.

"That's okay," Greg replied. "I mean, I still get a little freaked out by being on my own, so I'll enjoy the company. And you've got a load of books. I'll read or something."

"I also have a perfectly functioning TV, stereo, and other things you can use, if you want. I can understand that you're not solitary by nature..." And as long as Greg was going to invade his space, but maybe give him a little quiet time, Gil could cope with the company.

"Sounds good," Greg nodded. "I get to rifle your collection for classics. You can tell a lot about someone by their taste in music."

If Greg thought that was true, then he was in for a very confusing surprise. Gil just nodded, though.

After that, that odd truce of an agreement and Gil's equally odd acceptance of company, it was easy to drive in quiet. He stopped, parked, and didn't have to show Greg how to get into the building or feel that he was giving some kind of tour. No, Greg lived there in the building, too. They just didn't take the elevator up to the top floor, instead stopping two down.

He was half expecting Greg to renege on his promise to be quiet. It was hard to imagine that he could be that way. Finding him processing samples to very loud music, or bouncing around the lab when he was physically able to do so, had left him with the impression that Greg was.... jittery. 

It was very surprising to see him literally settle on the couch with one of Gil's forensics texts and be almost distractingly quiet.

Gil hadn't ever expected the lack of noise to be a distraction, but he went about and made two cups of good coffee, taking his time with it because it gave him a chance to think.

And hope, foolishly Gil knew, that Greg hadn't said that just because he felt like he owed Gil something. After all, bringing Nick into it and lying about it would have been a low thing to do, and Greg was very far from low, enough that Gil wasn't too suspicious.

The question was what did he do with the information? Nothing? That was maybe a safe option, but on the other hand, he could feel himself still on the edge of what he had felt before. 

He was pretty sure that Greg was with Nick and the hints about Nick aside, what would that mean? One of them would lose out surely. But he liked the fact there was someone else there, taking up his couch just now, where it might have irritated him before.

Greg... did understand what was going on in Gil's mind, more than Gil was willing to fully admit to. He understood, and through that understanding, Greg was insinuating himself rather well into Gil's home for the moment. Gil poured the carafe into both cups, foam almost falling out of the top, and turned to head back to the living room.

"I'd ask you what you normally did on nights off, but I doubt it was pleasant."

"It wasn't every night," Greg replied, and looked up. "Or day, or whatever. It depended who was around. Sometimes I'd get the TV to myself, or the computers. Or some of us would run tournaments on the video games or see if we could wrangle some more food. One of the guys worked as hired security for one of the big hotels. He'd be allowed to bring back things going out of date and he'd scoop 'em up into a massive box and bring them down for all of us in the dorm rooms."

"Do you miss any of them?" Gil asked as he passed Greg the mug. It was the same mug he'd given Greg to use last time -- Entomologists Do It In the Dirt -- except it struck him as more funny than usual this time.

It was probably the most inappropriate thing Catherine had ever given him.

"Some. There was a lot of transferring. In or out. Medical stuff. I had more attachments in the New York branch, but..." Greg shrugged. "You learn to make attachments where you can and then have to let them go. And get used to being communal property."

Gil didn't take a sip of his coffee right away, and instead leaned forwards to pick up his laptop and balance it on his legs. "And now you're going to have to get unaccustomed to being communal property. I can only imagine that it's harder than it sounds." 

"Well maybe. I mean, I guess I can take away the fact that my expectations, or lack of them, make me pretty bullet proof," Greg replied reaching for the coffee. He grinned a moment looking at the cup and drank. "People tend to use and move on, you know? It's the difference between knowing something and experiencing it, I guess."

Gil had just finished holding down the power button when Greg said that, and he had to pause before he depressed it. "That... is exactly what I was trying to say on the way over here. Except that you said it better than I did."

"Hey. Go me." Greg smiled at him. "You want to work on your revisions? I can shut up. I heard about the deal. New trace analyzer, huh?"

"Mmmhm. Who told you?" Gil ran one fingertip over the touch pad to access his word processor, tapping to select and open the program.

"Warrick. Catherine sprung a leak. Though Warrick didn't have details on how or why. Just that you had a deal to finish the book for the new equipment," Greg replied.

"I've been quiet on details. I met Bruce Wayne at that... party." Gil pulled up the charts that he'd finished earlier in the day, and then opened up the main document itself. "I'd be surprised if the analyzer didn't have 'Wayne Enterprises' emblazoned on every square inch of the surface."

"Of the Great House? That Bruce Wayne...." Greg paused in his reading. "Was his personal there? Kal-El the Meta? The one who's on the TV all the time?"

Yeah. He was there, and somehow he'd been simultaneously the best and worst moment of the night, at the same time. "He was there. He's very interesting in person, very politically aware."

"Cool. I'd love to run an analysis on his DNA," Greg replied before hesitating, watching Grissom for a moment. "Okay, I'm starting to get the hang of this non-Grissom speak. Something happen? To do with him?"

"You guessed that from watching me try to select all of these charts without losing the formatting?" It was a dodge, and a bad one, but Gil still tried it.

"Well I'm guessing unless that's stressful enough to have you go all stiff, then it was about him," Greg pointed out. "And that was pretty much like evasion."

"You're going to make a very good Investigator some day." Gil let the silence hang for a moment, while he moved the first three charts over and made sure he was putting them in with the correct chapter and at the right pages. "He helped me get through the evening in one piece."

There was no response to that for some time. "But it still wasn't good?" Greg asked eventually

"It, uh... Was a game that Eiger wanted the Personals to play. Capture, or catch or... something like that." Gil took a moment to select two revised charts and moved them over to the right place. "Ecklie tried to catch me first, and there's a thin line between playacting and actually fighting."

"Shit, Grissom, why didn't you say anything before?" Greg was sitting up. "That's a rough one! Not a good one for the Personals at all."

He didn't look over at Greg, just kept his eyes and his focus on what he was doing. Except that he could hear Greg breathing, so maybe only most of his attention was on the screen. "No, it wasn't. Kal... knew what he was doing."

The work in front of him was a good buffer that stopped him from looking at Greg.

"So you made a pact and he came after you?" Greg asked in a soft voice. "It's okay, Griss, I know how these things go."

"I know you do. I'm just not used to it, and..." He pasted another chart down. "It was worse, in a way, that I was dropped back off just hours afterwards."

"And I was there to bug you. Shit, I'm sorry. I just thought you'd be suffering from separation anxiety, that sort off thing, not dealing with the aftermath of a Capture scene," Greg replied. "It... he didn't hurt you, did he? I mean, it wasn't a hostile capture scene?"

"No. We'd come to the agreement earlier in the night since he didn't like the way that some of the other Personals there liked to do the entertainment." Separation Anxiety. That made Gil want to laugh, but he didn't, he swallowed it back.

"Guy like him? I would have thought he could make it go the way he wanted," Greg replied, exhaling with evident relief.

"Everything he does has some political implication for him to take into account," Gil noted as he shifted a few sentences to line things up properly around the fixed chart. "It was very subtle, and I'm sure I would have appreciated it more if I'd been in the audience."

"I'm guessing it's that way for the Great Houses. Everyone is reading everyone else," Greg said. "So, uh, what did he do?"

"They tried to..." Gil had to replay parts of the night in his mind to get his brain to assemble events neatly. "Capture him, as a group, and Kal didn't want to do that. So after I... escaped Ecklie, he caught me, and we... floated. When we came back down there was a small rebellion from the other personals, and they tried to chain Kal up, He, uh... broke them, chained everyone up, and then let them go. Then he removed my collar and cuffs, and told me I was free to go."

"Wow." Greg seemed impressed. "That is pretty political. I expect he'll get hauled over the coals for that." He also had a slight flush to his face for some reason.

"No, it..." Gil shook his head. "Diffused the situation. He went back to his Master after that, and I had Paul... put everything back for me."

Greg nodded as if that was significant too. "Still, pretty scary. I wish I'd known before, Griss, I would have stayed that first night."

"Why?" 

"Because...." Greg trailed off. "You really don't know do you?"

"No." Gil lifted his head, glanced over at Greg.

"Because... because I don't want you to feel like I have," Greg replied after a while. "I... care about that. About you." He really had flushed with embarrassment then. "You saved my life."

"Because I selfishly decided you needed to keep living. I liked you too much to watch you die." He dropped his eyes, and looked down to the screen again.

"Wait, wait... did you just say you liked me?" Greg said sitting up straight suddenly.

So much for giving his full attention to working on the revisions. "Yes." He told Greg that as he copied the two additional chapters over. After that, he'd have to double-check the chapter numbers. "You're an interesting person."

"Interesting like you find a bug interesting, or interesting in a more human related interaction way?" Greg asked cautiously.

"I'm not sure what kind of interest you'd find more flattering, coming from me." Gil looked sideways, catching the edge of Greg's interested expression from the corner of his eye. "But... as a person, Greg."

"So… uh, the total apparent lack of interest before was a particularly good act?" Greg put his book to one side a moment.

"I, uh..." Gil scrolled up a few pages, making sure he hadn't placed them wrong. Half of him wondered why Greg was giving up on the book. "Don't do well with people."

"Uh-huh, so to summarize, you're interested at least right now?" Greg shifted a moment, right up next to his side. Close enough to be touching and feel warm alongside his body.

Gil felt himself tense up just a little. "I hope you mean that as a generalized now, because I really need to get these mailed out in the morning..."

"That's okay, you carry on," Greg replied. "I'll just lean up against you and let you get on with it." His flash of a grin was a little nervous but he didn't move.

He tried not to let it sink into his subconscious, but it did. Gil pulled away a little when he leaned forwards to reclaim his coffee cup, and he kept moving the new parts into the adjusted manuscript, checking and rechecking all the while with Greg glued to his side and the distinct feeling that Greg was reading over his shoulder.

Maybe he was. It was a little off-putting but on the other hand there was the constant knowledge that there was someone there.

"Typo on Necrophila Americana in the second paragraph," Greg murmured after a long period of quiet, just as he was about to move on.

"You don't have to read it." Gil moved his cursor over to the typo. Sure enough, he'd typed Necrophilia Americana. The 'i' made a world of difference in the definition.

"Do you mind if I do? It's interesting," Greg replied. "But I can stop."

"Silphid beetles aren't usually interesting to people." He shifted, leaning back as he took a long sip of his coffee. So, Greg really was reading over his shoulder.

"Everything is pretty interesting to me," Greg replied. "I'm pretty omnivorous about information. Great memory for random facts, that sort of thing."

"That's a fairly important part of being an Investigator ." Gil scrolled down further, and then set his half-finished coffee cup aside.

"Yeah, Nick said that, though I'm pretty sure a lot of the stuff will never come up in an investigation. I was lucky in one way. I got a high credit of online time in the House because of my rating so I got to read stuff and use the libraries. They wouldn't pay for more than the text books of my courses and I've lost those because they belong to the House. I'll have to build my own library now." He smiled as if that was a wonderful thought. And it really was, owning all of those texts, having them on hand.

"You'll have the funds," Gil murmured. "And you can requisition some from the House in certain cases, too." Greg was still close to him, warm against his side, and it was odd that Gil hadn't bothered to find a way to weasel out of it yet.

He tried not to consider that it might be because he wanted it.

"I can? Cool," Greg seemed pleased.

"There are two forensics journals that are almost mandatory to requisition... The forms are somewhere in my office." he shifted, scrolling down a little, and then gave up with the idea of sitting shoulder to shoulder like that with Greg. Gil moved his arm, and stretched it out over the back of the sofa.

Gratefully, Greg slipped into that space, and leaned even closer, even as he continued to talk as if there was nothing unusual about what he was doing. "That sounds great. Of course I could always raid your library. You've got something of everything here. To go with your insect collections."

"You could probably walk off with a third of them for a couple of weeks, and I'd never notice." Because there was always a case going, and Gil preferred to read newer texts before he reread his classics.

"I may take you up with that offer," Greg said settling close and leaning his head against Grissom as if they were watching a film rather than editing text revisions. There was a sudden distracting wild mass of hair very close to his face.

Very close. It tickled the side of his neck, and Gil wondered at the fact that Greg was doing what he was doing. The why had pretty much already been answered, but not the tiny nagging voice in the back of Gil's head that asked, 'And what about Nick?'

"What about Nick?" Greg asked back.

"Hmn?" Gil's head jerked a little, and he looked up and over at Greg.

No, he hadn't said that aloud.

"I thought I saw you mouth the word Nick. It could have been 'get out of here, you prick', but I was erring on the side of optimism," Greg said, looking directly at him.

It was hard to distract Greg when they were that close, and Gil still felt like he was stuck in that mode where he couldn't lie. "I... don't understand why you're here, being this... comfortable with me, since Nick..."

"I was kinda hoping that Nick will be pleased," Greg replied. "What can I say? Maybe I'm what they used to call me. UnBonded slut, whore... whatever. I want you and I want him. I don't usually get what I want, but I can still try."

"So you..." Gil trailed off, and shifted his arm, finally draping it over Greg's shoulders. "Want both of us. That doesn't make you anything bad at all."

"It doesn't make me particularly normal," Greg replied. "I'm used to... being shared. Sharing."

"I see. And Nick understands this?" Because he wasn't going to just jump into something, no matter how sweetly Greg offered, that could strain things at work.

Gil almost couldn't believe that that thought had crossed his mind, that it was even a possibility.

"Well he was the one who pointed out how I was crushing on you. And I told him that I was coming after you tonight, to make sure you were okay," Greg looked at him with dark eyes. "He understands what I'm doing now. I want you in different ways. Not one more than another."

"I..." He inhaled, and strained to focus on the screen. It went to an editor first for a reason, and he'd added the new foreword, the revised charts, he'd typed in the additions, the handful of extra chapters, the new data. It was... It was done, finished enough that he could pass it off to someone with a tighter grammatical grasp than he had.

"I'll be back. I need to burn this to cd."

Greg nodded, looking a little wistful as if Gil getting up and leaving him was a telling response to his revelation. "I'll... just be here."

"Okay." He knew that Greg would stay there, and maybe his dodge of a response had left Greg hurting. Gil couldn't be sure, but he did need a little space, even if it was just to go into his office area and rummage for unused cds.

So, Greg liked him, and he liked Greg, and it was all very Primary Training of them both, but Gil couldn't bring himself to care. Maybe he was going to go along with it just because seeing Paul had left him feeling out of sorts, weak and needy. That didn't change that he did want Greg, that he was content to watch him from afar, no matter what or who Greg was with.

There was Nick and he was a good match. He couldn't imagine Nick hurting Greg, and God only knew that after Wesker, Greg deserved that sort of treatment. What he should do was back away gracefully and with dignity intact. But after Paul, dignity didn't seem quite so important any more. First lesson of being a Personal: dignity was subservient to emotion. It just wasn't as important in the grand scheme of things as closeness and human contact, connecting properly with one's peers. There was no comfort in dignity. No solace. No real respite in it.

Gil shifted a few books, and picked up the spindle, taking two, and cases for them that he knew would survive mailing. Then Gil headed back to the living room, and Greg.

He was exactly where he had left him, looking a bit lost on the couch but he smiled as Grissom came back in. "Found some blanks?"

"Two of them." Gil gestured with the cased cds, and sat back down in the same movement that he picked up his laptop.

"One for back up, one to send?" Greg guessed.

"Exactly. I used to send two, but that was when I first got a working computer. My editor started to ask me why I never used to send two copies of the manuscript or the article." Gil tapped the cd open.

"You've written a fair amount," Greg commented as he watched Grissom go through the process of burning the CD's. "I looked up most of the things you did when I got to the lab. The ones I could get to online and in the lab. Might have missed a few. I think the case studies are the most interesting, though."

It was strange how he seemed to make a startling revelation about wanting him, and then drifted back to ordinary talk. It was easy to fall back to that, and Gil let Greg talk about that while he burned the cds. "Which case studies did you like the best?"

"Well there was that one with the guy who did that thing with the mirrors? Killing families? Everyone thought it was an UnBonded, but it turned out to be someone working for a photography place. That was... incredible. The whole discussion on interrelation of evidence and a more holistic approach to crime scene psychodynamics," Greg answered. "That was an Imperial Service one, though, I think."

"It was. Back when I was a Freeman." Gil exhaled, and popped the second CD out. "That was... a lifetime ago."

"Contracting," Greg guessed. "There were some high profile cases. I just... you know, having had you in the lab, took it for granted that everywhere knew and used the insect timelines and evidence. Then I found out there's only a handful of experts. That's pretty cool."

"Not many people want to take the time to learn... the spectrum that covers forensic science. For every hundred in the field, I think there's only one or two naturals. We're just lucky here. Sam Braun's made a habit of collecting the naturals." Gil closed the CD tray, and shifted his arm to rest over Greg's shoulders again.

"Best team around," Greg replied, definitely trying to slip in very close. If there had been a film on, and the lights down, there would have been wandering hands any moment.

There was just Gil's laptop, and coffee cups, and Gil wasn't sure what to do. He still let his fingers wander, hit ctrl-s to save the file, and then started to close programs to shut down. "That didn't take as long as I'd expected it to."

"Well that's good right?" Greg replied looking at him again. "You, uh, got any other plans?"

"Honestly? I'd planned on wandering Vegas for most of the night and then coming back and rushing through that." Possibly while drunk, definitely while exhausted. Either would have been fine, but they weren't options. "But I have company, and I'm a very poor host."

"I'm pretty much enjoying myself," Greg replied. "Although I can think of ways we could enjoy ourselves more."

Gil closed his laptop, and shifted away from Greg to set it back on the table again. "Like...?"

"Well..." And there were the hands moving carefully over him. "I was thinking maybe I could distract you some."

Finger skimming the collar of his shirt, brushing his neck, fingers against his side, a testing to see what Gil would do, and for a moment, Gil didn't know what he'd do. He just did it, took in a breath and felt the warmth of palm and fingertips, the warmth in Greg's eyes. "I don't want to... affect how you work, I..."

"It won't. Will it effect how you work?" Greg murmured back hovering close, just waiting for permission or rejection. 

"Might. I like to protect my team..." But he protected them all mostly equally, though he'd walk through fire for Jim or Warrick or Catherine or Sara, or Nicky, or...

Or. It was a fairly long list.

"Like you did for me," Greg replied, very close to brushing lips against his skin. "Let me be your... Personal... show you what it's like to have someone's total care and attention."

So close. Gil leaned up, closed the faint space between them, eyes open until they lost focus because he was too close. "I don't want to do that to you, Greg..."

"I want it." There was the faint soft touch of lips against his skin. "I need it. I trust you." The feather brush of lips worked their way over towards his mouth, steadily but surely.

"I don't know why..." He turned his mouth the little bit that was needed for lip to lip contact, the sensation of skin to skin.

The kiss when it came was sweet and expert and there was no disguising the need in it. "Because..." Greg breathed. "Because you're you, and I'm me."

Somehow that was meant to answer everything, and it seemed to be the only thing that might. Gil closed his eyes, and leaned up to press his mouth against Greg's again, heart in his throat. Because he was who he was. It was a novel idea for Gil.

That was all the invitation Greg needed to really kiss him. Kiss him with a heat and a difference from the way Paul had kissed him. Intensity, heat, yes, but less demanding, and less twisted, and a thrilling rather strange sensation of tender care.

Greg wasn't trying to overrun him, Greg wasn't controlling him, Greg wasn't subsuming who he was in something else. Gil pulled, gently, dragging Greg a little closer, a little more comfortable.

Greg paused a moment, smiling as he looked directly at Grissom. "I haven't weirded you out yet?" he asked as he turn his attention to kissing around the other man's neck, jaw and everywhere he could find.

"No, you haven't," Gil murmured as he shifted, leaning back further. "Shhh, slow down. I... want to touch you, too."

"I'm impatient," Greg murmured. "Too long watching and never thinking there was a chance. Like any moment you'll vanish, and I'll wake up alone and with an embarrassing laundry problem."

He did slow the kissing down though, moving to try and get to more of Gil.

Gil lifted one hand, nearing Greg's hands on his shoulders, and for a moment there was a clink of cuff against cuff. A reminder that they were peers, that they were equals; that there was no power play at stake, and that made Gil smile against Greg's lips before he moved that hand into his hair. "Not going anywhere."

"I'm glad about that, because my imagination and I have spent a lot of quality time with you in my head, and I'm thinking we'd like to introduce ourselves to reality," Greg replied, leaning close again. "They usually begin with me saying, 'What do you want most of all, Gil?' and the answer doesn't generally involved forensics journals, or bugs. Well, only in really way out fantasies, but we won't go there just yet."

"Or trace analyzers?" Gil tilted his head slightly, eyeing Greg when he could get his eyes to focus again. "Just you, close, for now. Here... I'll move over and then neither of us will have to fight the arm of the sofa for space."

"I'd beat the thing eventually," Greg replied and then shuffled as Grissom did. "Better... better... now where were we? Oh, yeah. Kissing."

He relaxed practically on him and kissed again.

It was slow, and easy, and Gil kept his fingers stroking through Greg's hair while his other hand rested on Greg's back, pressing him gently down, closer to Gil so Greg didn't have to straddle him so much. "Mm."

"You like my hair," Greg murmured, eyes bright as he surfaced for breath.

Thoughts of Millander were fading when faced with the reality of Greg on top of him. Memory had trouble competing with reality, no matter how buffed and polished it was. “Softer than it looks,” Gil murmured against Greg's mouth, just before he slipped his tongue against Greg's lips.

That was enough to keep Greg silent for a long while as the kiss heated up and he moved instinctively against Grissom's body, rubbing at him just a little before he came up for breath. "Mussed up look, half the time real, half the time fake. Cover," Greg replied. "They liked it to look fucked up."

Gil's fingers, already gentle, turned faintly more careful as he stroked. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You're not them," Greg replied exhaling against his neck. "That was just an explanation, not something to get sympathy. Besides...." He grinned at him. "I kept hoping you would be irritated enough to come over and pat it down one day."

It was hard to not grin back, palm trying to smooth down Greg's hair. "I'm not sure that'd be possible. It seems to be used to standing up."

"I have other parts of my body like that," Greg replied with a wry twist of a grin. "You might have noticed."

"I might have," Gil agreed. Greg was by no means sly, but there was something gentle about his bluntness. Honesty certainly made anything more acceptable. Gil shifted, lifted his hips from the sofa, and pressed against Greg's crotch for a moment.

"Ooo... It's like swashbuckling movie going on in my pants," Greg commented still smiling and obviously trying not to laugh. "Swords drawn..."

"Not unsheathed yet," Gil grinned up at him. "No sense in rushing for the finish."

Greg chuckled a little. "God, you're great." His hands started to worm their way over flesh. "Did you ever have any... thoughts about me? Naughty fantasies when you should have been thinking about evidence, and crime scenes?"

"Occasionally, but..." Gil shifted, and didn't really mind that Greg was pulling at the buttons of his shirt. "Nothing specific."

"I would have liked specifics. In the break room, in your office, alone in the lab with no one else there... admittedly very unlikely, but it kept me going," Greg murmured while exposed Grissom's stomach. "Mmm. You have been working out. Nick was right."

He gasped a little, fingers tickling his stomach. "With Jim, yeah..." He wasn't skinny, wouldn't ever be skinny, but solid made it easier to work for hours.

"You like?" Greg asked bending to kiss at his chest. "I know where I'm headed..." He gave Gil a mischievous look and started heading down.

Down, down to… Yeah, Gil knew where he was headed, and closed his eyes a little. “I think so… Unless you're going to try to get under the sofa, which… I advise against, haven't vacuumed in a while…”

Greg laughed against his skin, kissing again. "You taste... good. I want to make it good for you..."

"You don't have to... rush, Greg, it..." He shifted his hands to Greg's shoulders, and pulled at him a little gently.

Greg stopped immediately and murmured. "Tell me what you want?" he asked again. "Please Gr... Gil?

It was strange, because he knew why Greg was stopping. "I want to enjoy this, and I want... you to enjoy this."

"I will, if I know I'm doing it right," Greg murmured, peering at him. "I... I can't explain it."

"I can. There's a satisfaction in serving right, I know." He moved a hand, and rubbed a thumb over Greg's cheekbone. "But I'm hardly capable of dominating the lab, and that's my job. I..." If that was what Greg needed, then he wasn't sure.

"I don't mean I need all of what I had before," Greg replied. "Just..." He exhaled. "Just you telling me what you really want. Just you being you so I know that everything is good for you. Then I can relax and enjoy it, too. Do you want me to do this? Or would you prefer something different? I just get... uncertain. And uncertainty was a surefire way for things to get nasty."

He shifted his hand, fingers slipping through Greg's hair. "I want you to enjoy yourself. And I know. It gets circular, but that's what I want."

Greg smiled at him. "We need Nick in here with us. When it comes to sex, he's pretty damn decisive."

That pulled a laugh from Gil, and he leaned forwards to put his forehead against Greg's. "Then at least someone would be? I'm sorry. I've always... deferred. Just... let me kiss you again."

"See? Look, there's something I can work with," Greg replied and shifted up again to kiss him on the lips for a long slow, wonderful kiss.

It made Gil want to sink back into the couch, leaning back and pulling Greg with him. Maybe that was all that he wanted just then, maybe that was all he could deal with just then. His erection had another idea.

Greg at least seemed to get the idea that he needed more of the comforting moves than he needed the fast exit to Orgasm-land. His approach softened and blended more with his responses. Soft and gentle and undemanding. Gil preferred that, liked the contrast to the past two times that he'd had sex. No sharpness, no.... That was good, even as his mind fell half-into comparisons when he knew he should've just been enjoying the moment. "That's it, that's..." 

The encouragement was taken on board and Greg molded himself to that reaction. Touches became tender and movement concentrating on intimacy rather than direct arousal. When he moved a little lower, it was to practically lie on Gil's chest, listening to his heart, and licking affectionately and unhurriedly at whichever nipple he was facing.

Intimacy was more arousing than simple arousal. Greg could have been blatantly sexy and gotten less reaction from Gil than what he was getting, fingers on Greg's shoulders, eventually pulling at him to get his shirt off so there was more for Gil to touch, too. "Greg, here, lean back..."

The younger man leaned back for a moment, deftly managing to help shrug off the top. The worst of his bruising had faded, leaving faint residues of marks everywhere like washed out watercolor. It certainly didn't seem to bother him at all and there was no telltale hitch in movement. The most noticeable left over could be felt as Gil skimmed fingers over his back even as Greg immediately moaned a little as he settled back into position.

"Does that hurt?" Gil asked, voice a low toned and thoughtful murmur as he stroked over them again. "Or does it feel good?"

"Feels good," Greg mumbled. He actually quivered. "Oh, God, I like that."

Quivered. Gil liked that, liked that he'd made Greg quiver, and made the same gentle touch again. "Because it hurt, or because...?"

"Because... you're doing it," Greg replied. "Feels good."

Greg's answer sank into him, and Gil closed his eyes and leaned back, pulling Greg with him. They had the room on the sofa to stretch out, and it wouldn't kill him to have Greg on top of him. "Okay. Here, move your leg..."

He lifted it, pushed over on top of Gil and settled there. "Better, much better..." Greg stretched out. "I can feel every part of you."

Everything, because if Gil could feel Greg breathing, then Greg could feel Gil breathing. It went both ways, had to, and he could tell from the way Greg was laying, that he could feel Gil's erection. "So can I."

"I like it. I like a lot. I could just stay here for a long time," Greg murmured.

"I think I'd prefer to... have time for my head to clear a little more before we go too much further," Gil started to offer carefully, draping his hands loosely over Greg's bare back. "You deserve that kind of clarity of decision."

"That's good, too," Greg replied. "I can be patient. You don't have to laugh at that."

Gil could feel the edges of raised skin, scabs that were still becoming scars, bumps under his fingers as he stroked Greg's back. "DNA is a very painstaking task, Greg. Of course you can be patient."

"Thank you," Greg seemed genuinely flattered by that. "Some of the shifts just think it's squirt a chemical here, squish a specimen there..."

"If it was, we'd all be doing it, wouldn't we? Except, we can't, and when you start to draw protein formations on the board, I know Nick and Warrick's eyes glaze over as much as they do when I discuss insects."

"Catherine looks at me like I'm preparing to draw big phallic objects when I do that," Greg grinned and lay his head down. "Mmm. Just like I imagined."

"You imagined this?" Gil murmured, lifting his head a little to look at the top of Greg's head.

Greg nearly blushed, and there was a surge of warmth from him in response. "Yeah. Sex is… attainable, you know? But this... never seemed like it was. Feeling safe. I feel safe with you."

"You probably shouldn't," Gil murmured. "Catherine... was outraged that I seemed to guess what might happen to you after I asked for the Challenge. I put you at risk."

Greg looked at him confused. "So? Okay, I freaked... but I survived. Why was she angry?" He genuinely seemed confused.

"I..." Gil laid his head back against the arm of the sofa, still looking at Greg. "I'm not sure I understand, actually. Whether she thought it was an arrogant decision, or... I don't know."

"It was a decision I couldn't make for myself," Greg gave a little shrug. “Sometimes change has to be forced. I've been hurt worse. Small price to pay for all this." He wrapped his arms around Gil twining them together.

"I wasn't thinking of this. I was thinking of coming in to work and knowing that you were safe. I..." He shifted, making it easier for Greg to do that. "Just can't understand Catherine. I know I should have asked you first."

"I would have freaked," Greg said frankly. "Nicky had a quivering pile of cowardly custard on his hands when I got served. It's probably good that you didn't."

"It's not as if you weren't justified in being scared, Greg. There are times to be scared," he sighed. Greg was close, blanketing him, and there was something enjoyable with that easy closeness. He did need time to clear his head.

"Yeah, well, you can't help but compare yourself to how other people might react. I sort of imagine Nick and Warrick in the same situation, being a lot calmer. Or Catherine kicking ass in there... or whatever." Greg lay his head down and closed his eyes. "I just got on with what they wanted." He huffed a little. "I wondered how your vacation was going. I had vague 'I told you so, I'm going to die' thoughts about the others because they didn't understand. But... I would trust you to make decisions about my life and safety. In a way, you do already with the lab and all. For all of us."

"I don't see how. I just show up for work, get you all out into the field, make sure the cases are tight, and you learn as much as possible." It was almost the bare minimum that a supervisor was supposed to do.

"And spend a week doing something you thought you would hate for the benefit of one of those staff," Greg amended. "For no personal gain. Excuse the bad pun."

A smile tugged at his mouth, and he tapped fingers lightly at the back of Greg's neck. "That is a bad pun."

"This from the man who cracks a bad pun practically every case we get?" Greg chuckled a little into Grissom's chest. "I'm making notes you know. Part of being a good Investigator? Cracking bad puns."

"I thought that was part of being a good instigator." Laughter. Greg laughed into his chest like it was the most natural thing, like they weren't both shirtless and half hard and wrapped close.

It was better than wandering aimlessly around Vegas for the night.

Greg snorted again. "I love it when you do that." He felt like he had the urge to move his hands to express himself at the same time as they moved over Gil's skin. "It's just crazy but... laughing's good. It's the only bit of me they couldn't break. That's why I like the lab. Everyone makes me laugh. Even with bad puns and bad lines. This means you, Gil." He was kissed again.

Slow and easy again, teeth tugging at his bottom lip just enough to make Gil groan when Greg pulled back. "Good, because I doubt I could change that."

"It's genetic?" Greg asked, nibbling lightly at his lips after a pause, teasing slightly.

"It might be. I wouldn't really know." Bad humor was very possibly genetic, and if it wasn't, there was at least something for Gil to blame it on.

"Mmm. You know, we could adjourn to a bed, you know, and do this?" Greg suggested.

"Then we'll fall asleep," Gil pointed out logically. "And we need to be awake right now."

"Why?" Greg asked. "You could use more sleep. Even your ability to do doubles and triples needs to sleep sometime."

"Isn't that a case of the pot calling the kettle black? How much sleep did you get last night?" His fingers were still roaming, stroking gently.

"Uh... well, Nick wasn't around so... not much I guess," Greg replied. "But why do we need to stay awake now?"

"Keeps the biological clock set for being awake at nights." Gil rubbed at Greg's back a little. "Which takes us back to 'what do you want to do'?"

"Be with you," Greg replied. "Don't care how. I'll postpone the marathon sex plans for now. We could get comfortable and you can talk to me about anything you want."

"Talking sounds good. How about... I put the coffee cups up, and you can see if there's a movie you want to watch?" Sitting on the sofa promised more closeness, touching and stroking and kissing, and that was all Gil was up to assuring Greg just then.

"Sure. There's bound to be something," Greg replied. He kissed Gil again and sat up unsteadily. "That will be good."

Gil slid his hands down to steady Greg. "I have a collection in that case over there. Pick whatever you think you'll like, or a couple. We have the time."

"Bring back a lot of coffee then," Greg replied. "I like movies. And making out to movies is even better."

“I might need empirical evidence to believe that." It took squirming on both of their parts to get apart, and Gil stood and had to pull his pants up because somehow they'd started to come down. He was fairly sure that they hadn't become sentient and tried to take themselves off.

Fairly sure.

From Greg's sly smirk as he got up and wandered over to the movies, perhaps it wasn't unreasonable to assume that the younger man had been working on them somewhere along the line. Or at least negotiating with them somehow.

He nearly shook his head; Greg seemed to have that effect on people. Who knew what watching a movie would result in?

The only thing Gil was sure of as he walked back to the kitchen to put the drip coffee on, was that it was certainly going to be an interesting night off.

* * *

Greg's apartment was comfortable. 

Now, it wasn't that Nick hadn't been expecting it to start to feel like a second home to him. He'd just... never expected it to feel like a second home to him. Period, no starting. But there he was, again, stretching out on Greg's sofa while he heard the microwave go off. He'd stopped to get ruebens on the way back from shift, and that was a pretty good decision. "Hey, can I help, or...?"

"Nearly done," Greg called back. "You know the way to my heart Nick. Bring me consumables." 

"Yeah?" Nick laid his head back down on the pillow he'd snagged. "God, that was a rough shift."

"Tell me about it?" Greg asked, settling down next to him as he passed over the coffee. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes a little, and smiled to himself. "Well. Hit and run, first of all, with an insistent liar. If you say you hit a deer, and I say the blood on the car is human, don't keep TELLING me it's a deer that you hit. If that was a deer, it was a deer with a decent human blood transfusion, I'm telling you."

"Well, like he'd think that'd get past even the basic testing," Greg replied with a similar sound of disbelief. "I don't know why people think they won't get found out." He settled more comfortably and easily next to Nick, unhesitating in wanting to be closer.

"Dunno. Arrogance? Stupidity? Damn hopefulness? The guy's going down, and his House is going to have to pay for what he did. The accident is one charge, but covering it up is a whole 'nother ball game." Nick made himself sit up and make room for Greg.

"Doesn't sound like they'll pay for him not to go to Imperial prison. I suppose they could opt for in-House punishment," Greg considered. "Wesker was pretty keen on that. I don't know about House Braun though."

"Sam Braun doesn't like to get his hands dirty with any of that stuff." Nick rubbed at the back of his neck, and shifted close to Greg's body. 

Greg's fingers immediately reached for the tightness in the muscles around his neck and started massaging expertly. "Well, that's good in one way. Some places UnBond automatically on a conviction. It can be difficult to get back into the system after a trip to prison."

"Or to get back into the system in a way that isn't criminal in nature." Nick leaned into the touch, and let his own hand fall down. "Greg, you should eat. You don't have to do that."

"Let me see... hmmm. Pass up the chance to get my hands on a gorgeous man, or... eat. Hmmm...." Greg pretended to consider. "If I get really hungry, I can eat you."

Fingers kept rubbing, and Nick laughed as he leaned into Greg. "How about we do fifty-fifty? If you could just pop my spine back where it ought to be after all that time flat out under a car..."

“Hey, you don't think I could? I can." Greg kissed the back of his neck. "I bet if I tested out on a Personal scale, I'd do okay."

"If you want to give it a try...?" Nick twisted a little, looking over and back at Greg. "Give it a shot."

Greg prodded down his spine watching as Nick flinched. "This is definitely going to be a 'don't try this at home' moment. Sit on the edge there, and I'm going to crack your back with my knee. I don't have the muscles in my arms for it yet. I'll need your arms too."

“If I end up with two dislocated shoulders," Nick warned, only the tiniest bit nervous as he scooted over to the edge of the sofa, "You are so explaining it to the medics at the hospital yourself."

Greg grinned. "Trust me. Cricked backs, necks, joints out of kilter.... We were all pretty good at that. With reason." Greg sneaked in behind him. "Scares the crap out of you when it pops, though." There was a nudge of a knee in Nick's back and Greg grabbed hold of his hands. "Ready?"

Greg's hands were surprisingly steady for being Greg's hands. He'd kind of gotten used to Greg being fast moving, a little shaky. Nick nodded, and wiggled his own hands. 

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Greg pulled his arms back and worked his knee with unforgiving pressure into Nick's back. An uncomfortable sensation built up, like an unbearable tension. "Phew, Nicky… tough muscles."

“Solid," Nick agreed, grunting a little. "Go on, keep tryin'."

Greg eventually groaned with effort and gasped it. "Come on baby... come on... that's it, just slot right in there... uhn!"

There was a startlingly loud crunch and jolt all the way through Nick's body. For just a moment, it hurt sharply, and then it was like an almost orgasmic sense of release. "Wow."

Greg released his grip and wrapped his arms around him grinning with the achievement. "Man, I'm good."

"Wuff. Hell, that was good." Nick shook his head a little, and twisted in to lean the side of his face against Greg's forehead. "Didn't expect it to work."

"And you let me do it anyway?" Greg replied grinning at him. "Nick, I need to talk to you about trust issues."

“Trust issues?” Nick slid one arm behind Greg's back, liking the feeling of limb tangles with Greg.

"Letting strange men crack your back," Greg replied. "Mmm. I've missed you over the past coupla days."

"Uh-huh. So what've you been up to in your free time? Let's see if we can eat and talk at the same time," Nick grinned. He liked the way that Greg seemed to be relaxing. He'd... be okay. Nick was sure of that.

"Been down with Grissom," Greg said freely. "Throwing myself at him." He didn't seem to see anything wrong with saying that, even as he wormed around to Nick's side.

After all, it wasn't as he if and Greg had sworn undying love to one another or any of that shit. Greg was going after Grissom, and Grissom was still acting kind of odd at work. Nick suspected that he should have been pissed off or something, but he kept getting mental images of Gil naked and chained up sleeping, and then maybe Greg chained up with him, and both of them naked, and after that kind of mental imagery, Nick couldn't get up enough ire to be bothered.

"Any luck...?"

"I've kinda slept with him. But just slept. He's not dealing so well with some of the aftershocks," Greg looked at him and he could see worry there in his expression. "He knows you like him, though. He was kinda having a crisis in self-confidence."

"So, you...?" Nick tried to not choke a little as he looked so close at Greg's eyes that he thought his own were crossing to pull it off. "Okay. And he was okay with it? I mean, are you sure he even heard you, because he hasn't been doing anything different at work, or..."

"Oh, he heard. He just looked... amazed." Greg looked up at him, dark eyes bright and not concealing anything from him. "He looked pretty amazed that I liked him to be honest. And first night? I was being pushy. You know... like I was with you, and we were having problems with negotiations. I wanted to do what was good for him, and he wanted me to feel good. I said in the end that you should be there with us because you knew what you wanted." Greg smirked a little. "He seemed pretty interested."

"Uh-huh. And you've been sleeping-sleeping with him? 'My personal space is precious' Grissom let you sleep with him?" Huh. Greg looked damn smug, too.

"Kissing too." Greg was definitely smug then and grinned at him in a shy way. "I mean, I like you both. I'm used to being shared around."

"Okay, but... 'sharing around' kind of implies using you, and Greg? That's the last thing I'd do." He pulled back a little and handed one of the plates off to Greg. "Which reminds me that you should eat."

"Oh yeah." Greg took it, looking grateful. "I didn't mean it like that, Nick, it's just that... I wouldn't want to give up you for Griss, or stop seeing either. Because you're everything I've ever wanted, both of you."

"I get that," Nick murmured as he picked up half of his own sandwich. "I... am honestly completely into the idea." And he was. It was just that Grissom seemed unobtainable to all of them and he was pretty sure if there was anyone in the lab Grissom would have chosen then maybe it would have been Sara or even Catherine. They all knew about Catherine and Gil getting it together when things were tough and he'd felt a prickle of jealousy now and then. But it was hard to muster full jealousy when he thought he wasn't in the running.

Greg bit into his and swallowed before beaming at him. "Really? Like the three of us?"

"Yeah? I'd be cool with it. And...." Nick shrugged his shoulders loosely, took and swallowed a bite to buy time to think. "If it doesn't happen, I'm cool with that, too. I really like you, like spending time with you."

"Wow man, I... I have to say I must have rehearsed telling you all this a hundred times," Greg said in an awed tone. "And I didn't pick this as an outcome. I was thinking there might be a fight, or ultimatums or... you might freak out at me. Which you're entitled to do."

"Nah. I'm kind of idealistic, but I sort of threw away any stupid expectations when you almost died on us all." After all, half of a really good relationship, a guy that he could joke and play with and really look forwards to seeing, was better than nothing. Nothing sucked. He had been so hurt by seeing Greg like that, when they burst in to a rescue that need never have happened if he had just listened to Greg's very real fear. He'd looked dead, blood all over, pooling down from his back in a way he had seen around DB's all over Vegas. He'd sat by him when Doc Robbins had cleaned him up and cried, seeing Greg lost to him because he hadn't believed him. And then Greg woke up, and there had been no hate in his eyes when he looked at him, and he had been cracking weak jokes and…asking for pain killers instead of blaming him…

Then he'd known that he'd take whatever chance he could get to be with him. Especially after that kiss.

"Griss apologized for that. I'm not really sure why, but... the guy tears himself up about all sorts of stuff," Greg replied finishing the sandwich. "Mm. Good stuff."

"Next time, I'm bringing you two," Nick declared, eyebrows going up as he watched him eat "You eat like a wolf, man."

"Years of making up to do," Greg answered around a last mouthful that he swallowed. "So. Spill, you've got to be thinking about it some. What have you been thinking about?"

"Oh, uh... Serious thinking or fanciful thinking?"

"Both." Greg leaned into him. "I like seeing you blush." He grinned again with that slight smirk that always wanted him to just smile back.

That was probably a good coincidence, since Nick seemed prone to blushing himself half to death. He chewed another bite of Reuben, and then licked his fingers. "Well, I kind of have this running fantasy about you and Grissom in bed, chained together..."

"I could definitely go for that," Greg said immediately without waiting for any of the details. Not that there were any. "I thought you weren't into that stuff. Or have I corrupted you already?"

"I don't know if I'm into it or what, but it's a pretty hot mental image. I've been trying to understand what you talk about when it comes to sex." 

"I don't want you to do anything you're not happy with, Nick. But you do seem to like the thought of that particular thing ever since the Mona Taylor case and dropping in on Grissom," Greg said showing he didn't miss much. Of course he would notice that sort of thing. "Griss is struggling after everything because he's having to face at one level that he enjoyed it. And it's a bit like a drug. Me? I... just like it all. I told you that."

"It's still kinda like a drug. If you're gonna be addicted to something, it's better to go with the equivalent of coffee instead of the equivalent of heroin, right?" Nick could be weird-sex lite. He knew that about himself but that's the way he was brought up. The Pleasure and Personal classes at school had been a required subject and one he just turned up for rather than participated in more than he had to.

"Yeah." Greg paused a moment. "Nick, stuff went on in Wesker that makes that sort of suggestion feel like... totally normal, y'know? I don't even really know where normal boundaries are. W..Wesker himself was a complete nutjob. Seriously. Rhino may have been rough but Wesker was..." Greg waved his hands unable to fully express himself. "He was a psycho with split personality. A puppet and a Death-Mark hunter."

Nick could feel his eyebrows coming together as Greg told him that. "He... hurt you, too?" If Greg brushed off what had just happened, what had been done to him that he acknowledged that he had been hurt?

"Yeah." Greg shrugged a little, nervous again. "Sometimes... really bad. Wasn't just me though. He'd get mad sometimes when he tried something on House Wayne territory and one of their Metas would push him back. Puppets and sex do not mix, I can tell you that. And he used to play with us when he was claiming a Death-Mark. Sometimes we were part of whatever scene he was doing up as execution."

"Jesus." Nick's sinuses stung, and that little bit of sandwich he hadn't finished off was going to stay uneaten. He'd seen some of the things people did to Death-Marks. The principle was that the more gruesome and inventive the claim, the more regard it brought you. Legalized though it was, Nick couldn't imagine himself doing that himself. "I don't know what I would've done in that situation."

"You would've survived, Nicky," Greg replied, sounding certain. "Like I did, because you're strong. Stronger than I am in a lot of ways. But I guess what I'm saying is I dealt with all that, so doing something like that fantasy isn't a big sacrifice. In fact, it gets me going in a big way."

"Okay. Just... Please tell me what makes you uneasy, Greg?" 

Greg slipped his arms around the other man resting on him. "Nick? I honestly don't think you would even be able to think of any of the stuff that makes me uneasy. I'm thinking that too much bloodplay or the serious sadism stuff would make you puke."

His laugh was only a little jittery. Jesus, the thought of it made his sandwich turn in his stomach. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, I couldn't ever do that to anyone, let alone you."

"That's the uneasy zone, Nick. Even that I'd do for the right person," Greg said seriously. "I've weirded you out, haven't I?"

"No. It's not that I'm weirded out. It's just when you talk about this, I want to..." Nick sucked in a breath, and watched Greg's facial expression before he added anything. "Fix it somehow."

"You are fixing it. Didn't you know that?" Greg leaned up and kissed him. "I'm serious. I've never felt this way about anyone in my life and now I have you and I have Griss at the same time. Nicky, I'd do anything for you. I mean that."

"Just because you would do anything doesn't mean that you should, or that I'll ever ask for something out past the bounds of acceptable, you know?" The kisses were sweet, familiar to Nick now.

"Mm. I know. I'll work on it if you work on it with me. And Griss, too." Greg paused. "You want to try? Some of the basics."

Basics? Nick had a feeling that Greg's ideas of basics were probably on Nick's advanced seminar level. "Sure."

Greg grinned. "You are so cool, Nick. I love it. You made that sound like you were just contemplating getting a beer or something. You could just get a feel for like, tying and stuff. That's pretty cool in itself."

"What can I say. I like to learn new things?" Nick leaned into Greg. "So, want to keep this here, or...? You're the teacher."

"Hey, why waste time?" Greg grinned again. "And I got a few basics. The place comes with it. Did you know that? Either that or the last occupant had a stash of tethers they didn't pick up. I found them when I was looking in the built in closet space. You get any of that when you moved in?"

"Bondage toys?" Nick grinned back, feeling a twinge of anticipation. "Nah, I moved in when the plaster was still fresh on the walls. New building, first occupant."

"And here I was thinking House Braun was particularly enlightened," Greg smiled and kissed him again. "C'mon. You get to practice the knots you learned in compulsory Pleasure classes."

"That was ages and ages ago, and I've used it more for tying up perps who've busted my manacles than anything else..." Nick stood, pulled at Greg gently. "First, you had enough to eat?"

"I used to manage a whole day on one of your sandwiches, Nick," Greg reassured as he got up. "I'm great. I've eaten more in the last week than I have in the rest of the year."

Which was a pretty sorry state to be in, but Nick still managed a smile as he slid a hand to rest on the fabric of Greg's pants. "Okay. Just checking."

"Fly with me to the bedroom, Investigator Stokes," Greg invited with what Nick guessed was meant to be a mock seductive look. "I should warn you. I find the sight of a man with leather or rope in his hands very erotic." He did seem genuinely excited by the prospect as he opened the bedroom door for them both. "You want me naked or with clothes?"

"Naked and tied up kind of implies a hostage situation, so let's go with... half-ravished and tied up." Getting his hands onto Greg's shoulders and herding him down the hallway towards the bedroom had probably been the easy part. The difficult bit would be handling him in a situation he knew nothing about.

"I like the way you think," Greg replied smiling as they went inside. "Hold on, let me get the box of tricks out."  
He moved to the closet and then returned with a sizable container. "Okay. Now, Nick, it's over to you. Half ravished and tied up. Goferit." He never stopped smiling at him.

Tupperware. Greg kept his sex-play stuff in Tupperware, and that somehow made it more severely clear to Nick that yeah, it was real. People in pornos didn't do shit like that, did they? "So I just... tie you down, right? I'm kinda nervous, so, uh..."

"Well that's up to you," Greg replied gesturing freely to show him it was his choice. "You can try just seeing how it is to tie me, okay? It can be a great thing to feel. On both sides. Sometimes that's all there is." He kicked off his shoes and then sat on the bed looking up at him. "Why don't you see what it's like?"

Nick popped the top of the container, and dropped the lid onto the floor as he examined the contents. "Hey, these are nice. Real leather ties. I hope you cleaned them or something, because I bet these things would light up under an ALS."

"Scrubbed and disinfected when I found them. Like new," Greg said as he lounged back on the bed watching him with a quirky smile.

A quick sniff proved that they smelled like banana oil, so yeah, he was pretty sure that Greg had probably done a good job. He was the DNA tech, after all. Nick clutched the long leather ties tightly in his hand, and knelt on the bed. "I should strip you off, first."

"You say that like it's a chore," Greg looked up at him smiling and amused. "Damn, you're hot like that." There was a definite flush to his skin that Nick recognized as arousal. It was encouraging in a way, that he could get that much of a response just by doing the equivalent of turning up.

"I'm just..." Nick trained off, unable to help smiling down at Greg. "Trying to get a feel for what I'm doing. I keep thinking that I'll tie you up and then remember to get your clothes off, which is a lot like locking the keys in the car.”

"In those situations? I've had them cut off before," Greg grinned a little as he gave an explanation that set fire to scenarios in his head. Cutting off clothes, Jesus…. "Depends what you want access to really. Don't have to be naked to use my mouth." He pulled off his t-shirt and Nick felt his own mouth go dry. Now the bruises had faded and there was a little more solidity to Greg, he was all wiry and lean muscle even if it wasn't well defined by gym work.

"I'm of the opinion that t-shirt fabric is pretty un-tasty, so I need to have you naked if I want to use my mouth." Nick leaned forwards, and pressed both hands against Greg's chest. "Lie back and put your arms over your head."

"You're a natural, man," Greg replied obeying easily. "Giving me the quivers already."

"I'm only sure I've got one part of you quivering, but at least it's an important part," Nick murmured. It was almost easy to slide his hands up along Greg's arms, reaching for his wrists.

"You sure you haven't done this before?" Greg asked still sounding amused. "Or maybe you were a child prodigy in your Pleasure basics class. I was pretty often the demonstration volunteer for the teacher." His wrists weren't as thick as many men's but they had a strong masculine shape, and Nick could feel the tendons moving under his touch. 

"I told you, the only other time I've done something like this was to tie up perps back in Texas." He rubbed a thumb over those muscles, and reached for the first tie, trying to get his thoughts around what he was doing. Tying up his lover. Making him helpless. It half worried him with the responsibility, and at the same time, he felt a stirring ache inside.

"I'd be doing crimes just to get this," Greg murmured, shifting slightly under him. "This is better than anything I've had before."

"Anything? Greg, I haven't even tied them," Nick murmured as he wound the leather in a figure eight around Greg's wrists, and then wrapped them both together. He remembered that much from his compulsory classes, in among the humiliation of blushing every time they had to do a practical. But there was only the two of them there and Greg seemed to be so into it that he wasn't going to critique his technique.

"Anticipation is key," Greg replied in a low voice. His were looking very bright and dark as he looked up at Nick, still totally relaxed. "No reason for you to be nervous, right?"

"Not now that I've got you tied down," Nick grinned lopsidedly before he leaned down to kiss Greg. It was an intoxicating feeling, he had to admit when it wasn't surrounded with embarrassment. Greg couldn't get away from him now.

"Oh right... now you get into it..." Greg replied even as he accepted the kiss greedily. Nick felt he could easily forget what he was intending to do if he carried on like that, and he was determined not to become overwhelmed too early.

Nick could pull back, though, and Greg didn't come with him, because he was tied down, even though it was loosely. "That wasn't what you wanted?" he teased.

"Oh, yeah. I'm into it." Greg certainly looked like he was into it.

Felt like it, too. Nick closed his eyes, and straddled Greg, feeling the evidence of his lover's arousal brush against his skin. That was an incredible thought. It was like Greg had just given him complete and utter trust along with his permission to do this. Suddenly he started to get an inkling of what he had missed when they had investigated at Lady Heather's. "So, do I need to tie your feet, too?"

"Do you want to?" Greg asked in a soft voice, making it clearly an offer. "How's it feeling to you right now?"

"Interesting." Nick knelt over Greg's hips, and then sat back, letting his hands rest on his hips as he felt the slow motions and shifts under him, between his legs. God yes, interesting barely covered it. "You're squirming."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Greg smiled again making his mouth dry as he looked down at him. "You do that to me. Mm. I've had a lot of fantasies like this."

"Want to talk a couple out?" Moving his hands from his sides was easy, and so was leaning forwards a little to rub a thumb over one of Greg's nipples. They were hard already, but the texture still changed a little under his touch. It made him smile to himself as he continued.

Greg exhaled as if he was trying to control a gasp. "Fuck, Nick... Okay... fantasies." He arched a little underneath him, shifting slightly. "I just had this one where you do... this. Tie me, and then start using your mouth everywhere, but not where I want you to be. And I'm wanting you to touch me there but you don't..." He stopped as if it were getting a little too sordid in his memory.

Nick repeated the gesture with more pressure the second time, picturing that and finding it very agreeable. Driving Greg crazy with pleasure was very different than what he was worried Greg might ask for. "And then what do I do?"

"Well, this is where it all gets interesting because sometimes I end up sucking you off, which is pretty hot, and other times you tie my legs and.... play with me for a long time." Greg cleared his throat a little, his expression clearly telling him that some of that playing got a little exotic.

"Good to know there's a lot of variation in this tying people up thing." Nick leaned forwards, to kiss just at the hollow of Greg's throat. "Let's start with that first version, and just see what happens?"

"Oh yeah. And variety? You haven't seen anything. There's no end to the positions. And the props and.... oh, God, Nicky, keep doing that..." Greg stiffened and pushed against him. "Yeah."

"Don't make me tie your legs down." It was only half a threat, while Nick lifted his head and pressed his hips down against Greg, where groin met thigh. He knew what Greg would do.

"Come on... you know that's practically inviting me to do it again," Greg moaned a little. "You're as hard as iron there..." He rubbed a little more.

"With the stamina of rebar." Nick could feel Greg's chin brushing his hair, and he scooted down a little, kissing a mostly straight line down between Greg's pectorals.

"Mmm. Nicky..." Greg was practically purring, bending to kiss at his shoulder and what he could reach. He automatically spread open his legs so Nick could lie between them as he moved down. It was an invitation as much as anything else. The friction was a little better that way, too, and it made Nick want to laugh. Greg sure as hell knew what he was doing, but Nick was still going to try to tease him. He leaned on his elbows, shifting to press soft kisses along the bottom edge of Greg's ribcage.

It made Greg pant and pull at the tethers, whatever he was doing. It appeared he hadn't been kidding about his reaction to being treated this way, which was a pleasant surprise. He'd had some idea that maybe Greg thought he had to because it was all he knew.

"Oh, God, your mouth is so damn hot.... you're wonderful, fantastic. If I was female I'd be volunteering to have your babies..."

"But if we had kids, we wouldn't be able to do this with the bedroom door open." He liked the feel of Greg squirming and twisting, arching up to try to get more than Nick was willing to let him have at that exact moment. That twisted an ache of pleasure to his own groin. It helped if he thought he was controlling Greg's pleasure, not him specifically. He had no desire to stop Greg being anyone aside from who he was.

"Good... point..." Greg panted out. He tried a sneaky move of wrapping his legs around Nicks own so he could get more contact in his attempts at friction.

"Whoa there..." Nick shifted, and pinned down one of Greg's thighs with his knee as he started to sit back, resisting the urge to chuckle. Damn, Greg was limber and flexible even if he didn't have muscle bulk. "Guess I am going to have to tie your legs."

"Aw, Nick... come on! I was just trying to get a little piece of that Stokes iron bar in your pocket," Greg pleaded hopefully. "I'm going to be really disappointed if that's some forensics gear, you know."

"Like that portable microscope Griss carries?" Nick's eyebrows went up a little as he scooted back off the bed, intent on figuring out how to pinion Greg's legs in place. Not as easy as it appeared. There were no convenient footboards at the end of the bed. The practicalities of bondage seemed suddenly more complex than getting a bit of rope or leather.

"You mean that's a microscope? Man, I just though he was hung solid," Greg said grinning at him. "Don't forget the unwrapping dilemma if you're gonna spread 'em," he pointed out helpfully.

Nick thought it, and then, hell, he said it, too. "Unwrapping dilemma?"

“If you want to get at anything under my pants, you might want to get them off before you hook my feet up to the bed posts or just tie 'em," Greg replied patiently. "Just pointing that out. Of course you could just yank them down. Or leave Greggo junior trapped. "

"Choices, choices..." Nick looked at Greg's legs thoughtfully, and then leaned to pat a hand right over top of 'Greggo junior', feeling the heat and bulge there. "So, that's what you named it?"

"Well 'Throbmaster of Love' is like one of those embarrassing names that might get it singled out at school," Greg replied, hips pushing up against his hand. "See? He likes you. He likes you a lot."

“Throbmaster of Love?" Nick squeezed his hand gently around Greg's dick, and grinned. It was amazing how he could make him smile, no matter what was going on.

Greg tried not to laugh or groan. "Oh... y...yeah baby," he managed half laughing, half pushing against him.

Yeah, that felt good. It always felt good to have a partner responding like that, arching up against his hand, trying to get more. It was definitely time to 'unwrap' Greg, so he slid those fingers up and deftly popped the top button of Greg's jeans.

"There's something very hot about being stripped," Greg commented examining what he was doing. "Mind you, they tried to teach me some of the formal strip dances? I looked a complete idiot. I'm not... coordinated enough."

"You look coordinated to me," Nick shrugged as he pulled. "Could've been that you were just underfed. That'll fuck with muscle control. I mean..." He dragged his thumbs over the edges of Greg's hipbones. "These shouldn't stick out." But they did, too angular and sharp. Even a few weeks of good feeding didn't undo decades of mistreatment and borderline malnutrition.

"I've always been thin," Greg agreed not excusing but accepting the implicit criticism of his physical state. "I don't think I'd ever be like you. God, I love your muscles. But it's your smile that gives me an instant hardon." Greg grinned up at him with a warm genuine look in his eyes. "The way you smile with that sort of relaxed soft look. The Throbmaster sproings to attention every time."

"Just from a smile? Man, I need to stop smiling at work if that's what happens, or sometime Warrick or Catherine might catch you being inappropriate." Nick scooted back, and then slipped off of the bed entirely, pulling Greg's jeans down along his legs.

"They'd never catch me," Greg replied hopefully as the fact he wasn't wearing underwear became very suddenly apparent. "Mmm, Nick!"

"Mmm, Nick, what?" Nick tilted his head as he pulled them off completely. "You go commando. I never would have guessed."

"I live in hope," Greg murmured by way of explanation. "I really hope you're intending to take advantage."

Yeah, he was going to take advantage, at least a little. "Of what? This big hard dick that's just bobbing and waving in the air at me?" Nick dropped Greg's jeans to the floor, and then reached for one of the leather ties.

"For starters. Any part of my body... I want it to be all yours." Greg answered watching him closely.

"Mmm, I'll get around to it." He stretched forwards a little, and started to tie Greg's ankles.

Greg watched a moment longer and asked. "You are enjoying this, aren't you, Nick? I mean... I don't want you to do something you don't like."

"Huh?" What a strange question to ask, and Nick stood there for a moment watching Greg and trying to think of what he could tie the other end off to. There had to be something. "Yeah, I'm liking it. Don't worry so much."

"I worry all the time, Nick," his lover replied and smiled a little. "Try under the bed. A guy who leaves the gear in the cupboard is bound to have something on the bed frame."

"Here's to hoping..." Nick crouched down, and felt under the box sprint. Sure enough, there were rope loops there and Nick figured that was what he was supposed to tie the leather off to. He shook his head with a smile. "I'll be damned."

Greg started laughing. "I swear I didn't go out and buy this bed."

Nick could feel the bed shake a little, and lifted his head to look up at Greg from down by his feet. "Sure, man. I believe you."

"Maybe it comes as standard in this building," Greg replied still smirking. "Which would be handy for Grissom and everything."

"Ropes under the bed?" Nick could feel his eyebrows going up. "Well. Handy how, exactly?" Nick tied it tightly, and ran his fingers up Greg's calf before he reached for Greg's other ankle.

It made the other man quiver. "If we end up at his place... maybe."

There was that mental image again, only now Nick could see himself in there and that... that was a special brand of interesting. He stroked his fingers over Greg's ankle, and then bent to tie the end of that leather tie to the rope loop. "Maybe it'll happen some day."

"I'm greedy," Greg replied with a mock sigh. "Yeah, that feels good." He flicked with his feet and ankles to test the handiwork, and the bed frame creaked a little. "Yep, that's me well and truly secured."

"I bet you could get out of it. In fact, you could probably instruct me how to do your knots better." Nick put both hands on the mattress in the space between Greg's legs and eyed him, appreciating the look of him laid out like that for him.

"Shh, you'll ruin my zone, man," Greg answered. "I'm about to descend into a wonderful place where I'm at the mercy of someone I really, really like."

"Sorry." Sorry probably didn't help Greg hit his groove either, and that made Nick want to laugh as he crawled back onto the bed to kiss at Greg's stomach. Yeah, this was a good feeling, knowing Greg wanted it and everything he did would drive him crazy.

"Mm. So now you have me, Nicky, what're you going to do?" Greg asked moving just a little under him.

Trace his tongue right around Greg's belly button, over the ripples of muscles. "Tease you to death."

"What a way to go." Greg didn't sound too unhappy about it at all. "Mmm... I hope this place has soundproofing then. Because I won't be going quietly."

"And what makes you think I don't want you to make a lot of noise, huh?" He went out of his way to make a noisy slurp right against Greg's belly button, before he wrapped one hand around 'little Greggo'.

"A good point. Wow... wow..." He tried pushing hard into Nick's hand again, and Nick tightened his grip before he released him. "Mmm. Love your hands. Love your mouth, your tongue. Your body... your eyes..."

Greg's sex babble was pretty flattering, the kind of words that Nick knew he could just soak up for hours. He hummed against Greg's skin, and slide down further, avoiding Greg's cock for the moment. No, he wasn't going to let Greg just get it over with, he was going to tease him, suck his balls, stroke his chest until Greg was begging and whining for it.

That was pretty much what he did. It didn't seem to take Greg long to get to the point of begging, even if he was proving to have a fair amount of restraint in not actually coming. He twisted and moved as best he could under the other man, as seductively as he could to try and motivate him into giving him more somehow. Any moment he was close enough, he would kiss as if trying to convince Nick that way. It was almost unbearably sexy to see him like that, so wanting and not feeling hurt, just the pleasure he was giving him. He could get into that. 

"Please, Nick... God, you're torturing me here... so good. Please!"

"Please what? Tell me, tell me exactly what you want." He was leaning over Greg, muscles tensed to keep himself from touching the other man while he did that, and slid one hand pointedly down to Greg's hip to caress over the edge of it.

"Want... want you in me. Want to come..." Greg jolted at that simple touch.

"You want me to fuck you?" Nick repeated the gentle stroking gesture, having to ask, needing to hear the words that would make his conscience clear. "Are you sure?"

"Please, Nick... Fuck me." Greg replied in a near whisper. “Fuck me.”

The whisper slid right down Nick's spine, and he shifted back, kissing from the edge of Greg's jaw down to his neck. "I need to know where the lube is."

"Mm, lube?" Greg seemed to come round just a little at the prospect of more than the teasing. "Drawer. If you need it."

"There's no 'if' in lube, man." Nick shifted, and slid off of Greg to retrieve the lube from the dresser drawer that was closest to the bed. He was disturbed that Greg thought it was optional. It made him all the more determined to make it good.

Greg made a noise that made it clear that it had been a luxury to him rather than a necessity. "No matter what you do, it'll be good."

"Yeah, but..." But, there was good good, and then there was good because Greg willed it to be good because he just wanted to like what Nick wanted from him. Nick didn't want it to be that idea of good. It didn't take long to find the lube since Greg hadn't had much time to clutter up his drawer, and then Nick crawled back onto the bed.

"Nick... do I look like I don't want it?"

Nick was sure Greg would have gestured to himself if he'd been able to. It was true he looked more than ready. Muscles taut and quivering, his cock almost painfully ready for action, a light sheen of sweat over him from Nick's relentless teasing.

"It feels fantastic. It's okay, you won't hurt me if you're worried about that."

"No, it's not that." Nick settled between Greg's legs again, letting his free hand stroke at Greg's thigh. "I know you're used to having people hurt you, but I wouldn't even think of doing that. I mean, there's hurting and then there's damaging. Play and... really fucking dangerous."

Greg looked at him a little confused. "I get that you won't do that. That's great. And it won't, I swear. That's for the Personals. Please, Nick... I'm fine, I just want you to do this. Every time you've held back, and I was starting to think there was something wrong."

There was something wrong with a society that let that happen and made it legal, but Nick had always thought that. He shifted, getting his knees wedged under Greg's hips to settle them comfortably, fingers wandering over Greg's skin. "Nah, there's nothing wrong."

"Good, because, I have these really weird self-esteem issues," Greg replied and relaxed a little more at the prospect that Nick was there and touching him properly again. "I do this whole 'maybe my ass isn't cute enough' dialogue in my head which escalates to 'maybe I'm not good enough' and after that I need a few beers or something." He said it lightly and flippantly but there was something in the way Greg looked at him that showed he was serious.

"Your ass isn't cute?" Nick slapped the side of Greg's hip, and then went back to unscrewing the cap on the lube. Screw caps. Like anyone could really manage a screw cap on lube in the heat of the moment? "Hell, in the lab your ass is unparalleled in cuteness."

"Well yours beats it. Warrick has a tight one for all his non-gayness. Catherine has a hell of a body, so does Sara. Some of the lab-rats do well. You should see what's under the lab coats sometime." He grinned again. "And then there's Grissom."

"Uh-huh. You keep bringing him up, and I'm gunna start thinking that I'm just not keeping your attention here," Nick teased, fingers wrapping around Greg's dick for a moment, slick with good lube. That told Nick right there that Greg liked it slick and sloppy, because the stuff couldn't have done a better job if it was ball bearing grease.

Greg seemed to deny it, but he definitely had a taste for nicer things now he could afford them.

"Just planting the seeds man, and...." His words dried up suddenly at that touch. "My attention is fully focused."

Nick slipped his fingers loosely over Greg's cock, denying him full friction. "Yeah, I thought that'd work."

There was no reason it shouldn't, especially with the fact that Greg had been teetering back and forward on the edge of desperate need for a long period of time. His words failed him and he moved as much as he could to get more contact, more tension, more of everything.

That was when Nick stopped and added a little more lube to his fingers. He could spread his own thighs apart, and lift Greg up just a little more to make it easier to slip his fingers down between Greg's ass cheeks.

It really looked like Greg would explode the moment Nick's fingers touched his ass, but instead he closed his eyes and just seemed to abandon any inhibitions whatsoever. The nervous talking disappeared, the jittery tension evaporated so abruptly it was almost a shock. Nick had to wonder if this was a normal reaction.

Fingers plus ass equaled relaxed Greg? Apparently, because there wasn't any jittery talking while he teased around the ring of muscle with slicked fingers, before pushing two of them slowly in.

There didn't seem to be any form of painful reaction, or resistance. Greg was tight but all the fingers did was make him squirm in a languorous fashion, as if he was riding a natural high. "Mmm...."

"Mmm is right," Nick murmured as he hunched over Greg a little more, working his fingers slowly back and forth, curling them a little, watching the blessed out expression on his lover's face with a feeling of amazed wonder.

That brought a rather startled gaps and a moan that was surprisingly deep. "God, Nick... just there..."

He squirmed his fingers around, the two side by side poised to press and rub against Greg's prostate. A little more touch-torture was probably all that Greg could stand, and Nick's own dick was hard and upright, ready for the real thing.

If he hadn't been secured, Greg's reaction would have had him writhing off the bed, or all over the place. As it was, his uninhibited movement pulled hard on all the tethers and had him pushing onto Nick's fingers. "Yeah... oh, god, yeah...." 

The words were barely audible over his breathing.

"You like this? How you feeling up there?" He knew how Greg was feeling down there, and that was ready.

"Like... I'm floating..." Greg did almost sound drugged as he responded and certainly he felt relaxed inside. "Now, Nicky? Please?"

There was no joking flippancy to that request, just a soft hopeful almost wistful plea in his words.

One last twist of his fingers, and then Nick pulled them out. He fumbled with the lube for a minute, before he stroked a healthy amount onto his own cock. It felt a little bit like heaven, and with Greg squirming on his thighs while Nick leaned in closer to him...

"That's it, that's it, push right in, smooth and hard..." Greg murmured. "Please, Nick..."

Smooth and hard. It wasn't like either of them could get maximum thrust with that position, but it also wasn't like either of them needed to get it just then. Not when Greg was so squirmy, and Nick was so hard. He shifted back, hands on Greg's hips, and lifted then up a little so he could position himself just where he wanted to be.

Greg yelled when Nick pushed in. It was startling for a moment until he could work out that it was a cry of pleasure, not pain or discomfort. With the way he was moving, it was all Nick could do not to just push in deep and hard. He was tight, he was hot and moving against him clenching and releasing his muscles with a surprising degree of control.

There was a lot more side to side and around and god alone knew what that motion was, a hip squirm thing that made Nick's chest stutter as he rocked his own hips into Greg's ass. His fingers kneaded into Greg's skin, clutching because that was all he could do.

"Do it, Nicky," Greg gasped to him. "Do it... harder. I won't break... oh, god, never this good..."

Everything he did was to encourage him to plunge deeper, to push harder, to drive him to the edge of his control and beyond.

It wouldn't take far. Next time, Nick was going to give Greg's legs more leeway, because just then, he wanted to put Greg's ankles on his shoulders and lean in to kiss him, fuck him hard into the mattress. But there was something sweet about the Greg who was tied up and still squirming and moaning for him, impaled on his dick with every thrust.

Everything he was worried about didn't seem to be a problem. He could finally allow himself to feel and revel in the sensation. Greg knew everything. How to make the experience memorable, to follow the rhythm, to squeeze, to twist just at the moments when he least expected it. 

He was right, as well; he was very vocal in noises at the very least.

They were raw sounds, groans, sighs, moans that shivered up Nick's spine until all he could think to do was thrust and feel the unforgettable sensation of pushing inside of Greg, his clutching warmth. Next time and what he could do then, and other options slipped right out of his brain as he clutched right at Greg's hips, forcing him still for just two more thrusts.

Somewhere in the incoherence, Greg was begging for something, permission of some description. It was hard to hear with the blood roaring in his ears as he pushed in deep to the body beneath him

"C'mon, c'mon..." Just a little more, just those last couple of thrusts, and Nick tensed, hips rocking a little involuntarily as he came in Greg's ass, making some sort of low moan of climactic ecstasy. That feeling of his balls un-knotting, of letting go, was unparalleled every time.

Whatever he said seemed to be signal enough for Greg to come as well, splashing hot warmth over them both even as he bellowed Nick's name and clenched around the cock inside him, milking it with a natural spasming response until he relaxed bonelessly.

"Jesus." Nick slumped a little, still kneeling, still in Greg. It wasn't exactly a comfortable position, but it was definitely going to take him a minute to gather himself. He felt like he had just emptied himself of years of sexual tension in one go.

Greg's breathing was ragged and unsteady, almost as if there had been a great emotional release as well as a physical one. He seemed unnaturally silent for him, which was a little worrying. Greg hadn't even really been quiet when he had been hurt.

So Nick shifted out of him, and untied Greg's ankles and then his wrists. He could untie the leather from the bed later.

It had left marks, he could see that, but that was nothing to the way Greg looked at him. As if he was the entire world and every dream he'd ever had and that look made him desperately want to be that person for Greg, to live up to that look. A few moments after he realized he could move, Greg almost immediately turned and wrapped himself around Nick in a desperate need to be touching him, holding him somehow. He could feel it almost radiate from him and, for the first time, experience the rush that come with being in a position he had only read about.

Nick knew what that was. He'd seen it while on plenty of cases. Personals needed comfort after the comedown. Personals... Well, at least it wasn't a really negative part about it. Nick shifted, lay out beside Greg, and wrapped his arms loosely around Greg in turn. It was a simple thing to give that could bring so much pleasure.

"Hey."

"Hey," Greg replied while trying to get as close to Nick's body, his skin, as was physically possibly. "That was.... that was the best... I..."

"I liked it a lot, too," Nick grinned. So close, so close that just leaning in to kiss Greg's lips was easy. Easy and it felt good, made his chest ache.

Greg returned the kiss, long and slow and exhaled. "Good. I wasn't sure if you'd said I could and... I did. Because I needed to... so much."

That didn't make a whole lot of sense. It was possible Greg was still in that mind-altered zone.

"If you could... what?" Nick pulled at Greg, and then shifted to lie on his back. Greg was light, and he could easily handle him being on top.

Greg settled there, still giving the odd shiver of reaction. He looked at him, his dark eyes worried. "If I was allowed to... you know, climax. Uh. That means you didn't say I could doesn't it?"

"I think I was trying to goad you on." Nick moved a hand to run through Greg's hair. "You need permission?"

Greg gave him a look that clearly said 'doesn't everyone?' before he lay against Nick's chest and there was a slightly muffled, "Shit."

Cute. Nick closed his eyes, grinning to himself as he started to massage Greg's scalp, trying to not let a laugh bubble up. "We'll get the hang of it together."

"There's a whole set of rules or not-rules out there I know nothing about isn't there?" Greg replied literally wrapping all limbs he had available around Nick. "I didn't know that. I've always had to..."

"Well, you don't have to. You can just come, and nothing bad happens." Nick nudged a kiss against his temple, trying to reassure him in the face of that revelation. "Don't stress. Like I said, we'll figure it out together."

"Thank you," Greg answered, sounding relieved. "It.... I kept waiting for there to be something wrong, or something to hurt, but you didn't. It was incredible. I mean it."

"I told you that I'm not going to hurt you in any bad kind of way, and I meant it," Nick confirmed easily. "So, you tired or are you wired?"

"I'm just sorta... uh, wanting to be really close to you," Greg answered, leaning into him. "I'm up for anything if it doesn't mean leaving you."

"A nap?" Nick suggested. He was still pretty wrung out from the day's work, but there wasn't any guessing how active Greg was feeling.

"Sounds good. You kept taking me to the edge and then leaving me there, Nicky," Greg grinned against his skin and kissed at him as he rested. "That burns some calories."

"I'll have to feed you really good before we head in to work tonight," He decided, teasing in his voice along with the honesty as he stretched out a little. That felt good. Nick was pretty sure he could stay that way forever.

Greg was warm and had genuinely seemed to want or need what they had done. They might have hit a few kinks on the way, but Nick was pretty sure it was something he could handle. He was adamant that he wouldn't abuse Greg in any way; he wasn't sure if he could stand it if he did even accidentally, but that hadn't seemed to do anyone any harm. Control of pleasure was a different thing to abuse. In fact, it had been hot, intense, and he had to admit he really liked being so in control and being able to make Greg respond the way he had. Now at least he could glimpse a little of what he had missed when they had been investigating at Lady Heather's. Then, he couldn't understand why. But now.... Well. Now was different even if he had no further plans than to introduce Greg to this unfamiliar way of respecting a partner rather than treating them as property.

He'd teach him somehow, even if that was the only thing he could do for him.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

It was good to be back in the stride. Back and working, working normal kinds of cases and normal types of mysteries about normal deaths and abnormal deaths alike. Gil was starting to feel like himself again by the time a few weeks had passed since Greg's welcoming party. The sharp edge of rejection had faded a little, and whenever he was home on a day off and Greg happened to have a day off, Greg was there. He hadn't really had the opportunity to stew and ruminate on what had happened because Greg was pretty much always there.

Gil was fairly sure that it was a conspiracy, but it was one he could live with. Particularly after he'd ended up exhausted after a trip to one of the little carnivals that dotted the city. Greg was inexhaustible about rides and everything was pretty new to him so he wanted to see everything....

He'd still been tired when he'd handed out assignment sheets at the start of shift, and he'd chosen to work a case without Greg in the hopes that he'd regain a little of his energy.

Warrick was due to meet him shortly; he was getting some details from Doc Robbins and he'd done a little mix and matching, putting Nick and Catherine together and then Greg and Sara. He was hoping to strategically wear down some of the barriers that existed in the team. Maybe a little bit of exposure to Greg might wear off some of Sara's attitude issue. It could end up being a disaster, but he felt the risk was worth taking.

There were just a few things he absolutely had to get off in the paperwork which had piled up as he had finally pushed through and sent off the final revisions for the promised copy of Entomology of Murder a few days before. The last thing he needed was any sort of interruption. Which of course was exactly what he got.

"Hello, Gil."

He lifted his head a little at the sound of the voice, and immediately realized it was someone he never wanted to see. Conrad Ecklie, dressed quite differently from how he'd looked when Gil had last seen him. Normal suit, shirt, dress jacket. The only thing that ever tipped off that he was a personal was the collar locked in place around his neck, and delicate metal chains that hung down front, in place of a tie. "Ecklie. What can I do for you?"

"Your monthly report is overdue. Again." Ecklie stepped forward. He was half smirking. "I thought I should offer to chase it up. After all, I mentioned you might be having difficulties readjusting..." He let that suggestion dangle.

"I'm still somewhat behind on paperwork," Gil offered as dismissively as he could. Difficulties readjusting. Even if he was having problems, it wasn't any of Ecklie's business.

Ecklie wandered over, secure in his position now. "You should've let it be me, Gil," he said in a low voice. "It can't have been easy with the alien."

Gil was sure that his jaw wanted to creak at the implication that Ecklie was making. "Conrad, if you have something related to the department to talk about, fine, but I'm not going to discuss that night with you."

"You do know you should talk about it to someone," Ecklie said easily. It was the same advice he had received from everyone but there was something slightly unpleasant about the thought of baring his soul to Ecklie. "Part of Personal training. But as you've never had that, you wouldn't know. I thought you should be aware. For your own good. And offer my services. It's what we Personals do for each other and... I'm willing to do that even though you aren't qualified."

"Oh, I'm sure you would." Gil set his pen down on the blotter, and tried not to glare at Ecklie. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your... generous offer. I've been talking to someone about it."

"An amateur can do more harm than good," Ecklie leaned up against the table. "Come on, Gil, I'm extending the hand of friendship here. This could be good for you professionally. If I had known that it was something that you were willing to do... well."

The gleam in his eyes spoke of opportunities wasted.

"It was person specific, and not something I want to venture into again." He looked up at Ecklie, firmly, unwilling to budge or twitch.

"You can't deny that it's in you. I've got eyes, Grissom." Ecklie stepped back. "You know, I could make your life awkward. You have no idea how much I smooth things over with the Sheriff for you."

"And you do it because a happy Sheriff is much easier for you to deal with than an unhappy one," Gil pointed out. "Everything just goes better for you when he thinks he has everything he wants, and all he really has is the few things he needs." An aura of calm control probably being one of them, but Gil could only guess at it as he watched Ecklie.

"There's no reason why things have to be difficult," Ecklie replied and reached out to try and take hold of Gil's wrist. "You need to learn House and Imperial politics, Gil. Do you never want to pay off again? You want to be working right to the moment you die?"

"How about you, Ecklie? I've at least worked myself free once. Do you know what I'd do if I were free? I'd still be working here anyway. It doesn't matter to me." Gil very carefully turned his wrist, not struggling to pull back, nothing irrational and uncalm.

"I could pay off any time I want. And when I do, I have a Freeman allowance that will make even Vegas elite raise their eyebrows," Ecklie replied. His grip tightened and his smile became fixed. 

There was a flicker of movement outside the windows of his office.

"Good for you. Congratulations. Maybe you'll get yourself a nice car and actually keep it up." Gil twitched an eyebrow slightly, watching the motion that seemed to be hovering out there. "But you haven't paid off because you like being a Personal. You like being Sheriff Atwater's. So don't criticize me for wanting to stay here in the lab."

"I'm trying to get you to see sense Gil. Mutual benefit for us both. I can help you in ways you couldn't imagine..."

"...And you are breaking one of the fundamentals of a Personal's training in persisting in demanding an answer when you've been told no repeatedly." The voice was partly familiar. "I believe I told you once before that Gil and I have an... understanding."

Kal-El stepped into the office and then put down the enormous box he had been carrying effortlessly.

"Go back to your Master, Ecklie. I doubt he knows what you're proposing. It's not strictly the done thing without permission, you know."

"I wouldn't want you to get yourself into trouble, Conrad," Gil agreed. He felt oddly relieved to see Kal-El there, in his office, with a box that was probably waist high on Gil, with the same width either way. "Kal-El, it's good to see you again."

"Likewise, Gil. Don't let me interrupt, Ecklie, if you had some actual meaningful business?" Kal folded his arms and smiled, the force of his presence still having that impact.

Ecklie stepped back. "I take it the report isn't done then, Gil. I'll drop by tomorrow for it."

"Or you could just let him send it when he's done," Kal-El suggested still smiling.

"It'll be finished by tomorrow." And whether Ecklie came for it or he sent it out, Gil didn't care. His attention was already starting to drift to the huge box that Kal-El had come in with, and with that attention drift went his curiosity.

"Fine. Nice to see you again, Gil," Ecklie backed off. His expression when he looked at Kal-El was dour and unhappy, but he did leave the room and the pair of them alone.

Oddly, Kal-El, resplendent in his House Wayne apparel, and his bejeweled cuffs, collars and clothing that told the world of his status and accomplishments looked unsettled and nervous now they were alone. "Uh... I brought over the Analyzer. Bruce got the revisions today."

"Straight from my publisher?" Gil's mouth twitched. He'd be lucky if they printed it in the next eight months, but at least it was in. "I hope that he finds them helpful in.... whatever he's using them for."

"Extremely useful. And yes, Bruce is like that. He's interested in content rather than felicity of style." Kal-El smiled and pushed the door shut. "And I wanted to see you. He got irritated with me over my... obsession."

"Your... obsession?" Gil asked carefully. He half-watched the door shut.

"Yes." Kal-El came over to him. "I... need to know how badly I hurt you. I know you didn't want it, I know you hated it and... there's nothing I can do or say that can take away the fact that I raped you. Because that's what it was. I know that.”

"You..." Gil trailed off, and tilted his head a little to better look at Kal-El. "Please, sit down. I was reluctant, but it wasn't rape, Kal-El. Trust me when I say that, because knowing the line between the two is part of my job."

The other man did sit down, but hadn't lost his worried expression. "Gil, you barely know me. Hours later you were restrained and..." He looked down a moment. "You had no choice. That, in my definition, makes it rape. I hate the fact I had to do that. No... no, I didn't have to. I could have not done it and be damned to the consequences. No one could have stopped me. That's the problem. I did have a choice, and when I chose, it was you that lost out."

"I had one choice, actually. Not what happened, no, but the who." Gil leaned forwards slightly. "Trust me, it would have been worse if I'd been with Ecklie."

That got a faint smile. "The lesser of two evils is still an evil, Gil. I find that hard to... deal with. Bruce says that I'm oversensitive to issues of volition and choice, but I don't think I can help that." He looked at him with warm green eyes. "I swore I would never do anything to someone unwilling... and I did. I dressed it up and called it the right thing, but in the end, I hurt you. All I can ask for is your forgiveness."

There wasn't anything to forgive him for, so Gil studied the other man, trying to gauge what was best to say when he should have been working on the paperwork. "You weren't the one responsible for putting me in the position where I had to choose between the lesser of two evils. That was entirely P... Judge Millander's doing. But if there is anything to forgive you for, I do."

"Thank you," Kal replied, smiling a little. "It helps some to hear that from you. I enjoyed talking to you, and it's been preying on my mind how badly I might have hurt you. I wanted to come sooner but I was in trouble for my political posturing on that night." He gave a faint grin. "Bruce has had a big mess to clear up because of all of that."

"I'd ask what kind of mess, but..." Gil shrugged his shoulders. "I'm politically tone-deaf, as one of my colleagues likes to mourn. I'd probably miss the nuances of it."

"The interpretation that reached the Imperial Court that I could uh, 'fuck Justice, the Law and all its representatives and that I had the power to control it' wasn't in the original game plan," Kal-El replied. He looked a little uncomfortable. "Lets just say I've had to compensate for that error."

"I'm sorry." How had they gotten that interpretation? It seemed almost absurd.

Kal-El shrugged. "Dominic of House Luthor has had his revenge. Bruce wasn't pleased. He'll find a way to pay them back, he always does. Anyway, I got permission from him to check you were okay and offer to... I don't know. Make reparations. I even have it in writing. You have the use of my services for one favor now or in the future. The favor can be anything you wish." He handed over a sealed envelope, with a House Wayne insignia.

Gil didn't have to break the seal to trust the contents. No one came that far to apologize and then brought a fake letter of permission. "I'll remember that, Kal-El. I'm never sure when something will go horribly wrong around here."

"Horribly wrong is something I do well. But it still doesn't seem like enough." He glanced around noting something. "Is that carbon for carbon filters there?"

Gil turned his head left, and glanced over at the stray equipment. "That is. I have to apologize for the mess, but this place usually looks like a paperwork bomb exploded."

"May I?" Kal-El got up and picked up a large handful of the purified product. "You might at least find it interesting."

"I always like to learn interesting things," Gil admitted as he watched him take that large handful. "Please, go ahead."

It was a suprisingly quiet and unimpressive looking process. Kal-El squeezed his hands shut, and seem to focus with his eyes. Gil could see the sudden rather dramatic heat shimmer distorting the air around the Meta's hands, and the intense look of concentration. "It won't take a minute."

"If it takes longer, that's all right. I like procrastinating on my monthly reports." Gil focused his eyes on Kal-El's hands, watching what he was doing.

"Bruce tells me that technically I shouldn't be able to do this," Kal-El said conversationally. "He's not entirely sure how this works and really I'm not meant to, but I don't mind Bruce taking me to task. I'm sure he'd get upset if I was perfect all the time." He gave a brilliant grin at Gil for a minute, some of his seriousness shed before he focused his eyes again and the heat shimmered again.

"I'm sure that he's not perfect all the time, either." Even if Gil's tone clearly implied that he seemed to be most of the time despite that logically he couldn't be. "So what are you doing that you technically shouldn't be able to?"

Kal-El squeezed really hard then, so his knuckles went white and then paused. "Just give it a minute and I'll show you." He peered at his hands and then blew over them and Gil could feel the chill sudden and bitter even as Kal-El unfurled his hands revealing a murky looking compacted mass the size of a large egg. "A gift for you. For the choice I took a way, a different choice in payment."

"Kal-El, I meant it when I said there was really nothing to forgive you for..." Gil peered at the murky compacted mass. Some kind of stone. Carbon to a stone...

"It's just carbon." Kal said shrugging his shoulders. "For when you want it." He took a piece of paper and in a blur wrote out acknowledgment of the gift and signed. "In case you get questioned about it."

It's just carbon, and Kal-El shouldn't have technically been able to do it. What the murky-coated stone was suddenly clicked in Gil's mind, and he tried not to stare. "You... Thank you, Kal-El."

Kal-El smiled a little. "I better go. My presence is causing speculation. One last gift -- the last copy of the filmed events of that night. They're not meant to film, but there's always someone who tries it." A DVD was put down on the desk as well. "Destroy it or keep it as you wish."

Review, and then destroy, Gil decided as he looked at the clear case, and palmed it more tightly than the precious stone in his other hand before he set them both down on top of his desk. "And the box as big as my DNA tech is the analyzer? Got it. Kal-El, thank you. I appreciate your coming here to apologize, and.... Everything else leaves me at a loss for words."

"It's little enough to make up for that night." Kal-El turned towards him having paused for a moment. "Gil? Would it be a terrible imposition to have one last kiss?"

"I... no? No, it wouldn't be." Gil was already standing up to see that Kal-El got out of the department unmolested, so it was just a matter of stepping out from behind his desk.

Much more gentle and with less of the directed purpose than he remembered, the younger man bent his head a little and kissed him with all the expertise that a gem level personal of the highest carat rating could muster. It was like kissing the sun, and somehow the rest of the world vanished from his attention.

Bruce Wayne was a very lucky man, Gil decided. Not for the money or the status or the freedom, but to have Kal-El, an amazingly interesting Meta with such a sense of right and wrong. Gil leaned into the kiss, melted, and he probably shouldn't have been doing that on company time, but…

Once in a lifetime chance.

After all, who would believe that Kal-El, world famous Meta would ever want to kiss him? He apparently did, though, and it was an experience that would stay in his memory for a long time. It lingered even as the other man stepped away.

"Thank you, Gil. I can tell now that those weren't just words about forgiving me. That means a lot to me." He turned to leave. "And they really are interested in you, you know." He quirked a smile, glancing out of the office a moment.

Gil tilted his head slightly, and could see beyond the mostly drawn blinds that Greg and Nick were in the DNA lab. If he could see them, then Gil realized they could see him. Probably not clearly, but... "I'll... have to keep that in mind. Let me make sure you get out of the department unmolested."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Kal-El replied and allowed Gil to escort him out of the room. 

People were staring at the man, eyes almost comically wide and stunned as they walked the corridors. Gil kept them from saying anything by giving meaningful looks that he hoped conveyed a general feeling of 'don't make me have you on call for the rest of your life'. "Now I have an even better reason not to work on the monthly review, you know. I get to help the trace techs fiddle with the new analyzer."

"What a terrible shame. Ecklie will be very distressed," Kal replied with a very youthful smirk as they found an impromptu crowd at the reception area. "Uh..."

Gil frowned tightly at the people milling about. "Go on, get back to work! I thought we had crimes to solve, but if you can all just stand around, I guess I can send everyone home right now unpaid?"

That broke them all up immediately and Kal-El smiled. "Thanks, Gil. I'll be seeing you again sometime. Whenever you collect the favor."

"I hope I run into you the next time you and your Master are in Vegas, because it would be good to see you under happier circumstances than an absolute emergency." Gil still smiled when he said that, meant it.

"I'll mention that to him. He's very interested in your work," Kal nodded and then turned. "Goodbye, Gil."

And just like that, in a blur, he was gone.

Amazing. Gil turned away from the door, not wanting to linger and stand around himself, and headed back to his office. He'd put the stone (diamond, but he wasn't going to think about it that way) with accompanying letter and the DVD and the favor note in his briefcase, and then see about getting the trace analyzer set up.

"You've certainly got friends in high places, Gil," Catherine drawled behind him. "Whew, he can get Personal with me any day of the week."

He turned towards her, and she didn't take but a moment to catch up with him. "Hello to you, too. He just came by to drop off the new trace mass spectrum analyzer."

"The one you did the revisions for? That was a quick turn around." She threw him a smile. "He was certainly very friendly." It was nearly a question.

"Kal-El is a very friendly person," Gil agreed as he paused outside of his office before he opened the door again. She was going to follow him in, and he knew it, and there wasn't much he could do to shake her off.

"Mmm. I'm a friendly person, too, Gil, but I don't usually send the entire lab into a rampaging case of hormones," Catherine replied following him in.

"Maybe it's one of his less notable powers," Gil shrugged as he arrowed right towards his desk, picking up his briefcase first, and dodging past the big box that the mass spectrometer was in.

"Come on, he likes you. And boy, that's thrown a few people for a loop. I'll be surprised if Greg makes it through the night."

"I need to talk to him..." Gil rubbed at his face as he popped open his briefcase, and picked up the stone and the note to put them carefully in it first, leaving the DVD and the letter of favor still on his desk. "Kal is utterly devoted to his Master. And he's just very polite. He was trying to get N... Greg stirred up."

"Nick?" Catherine looked at Gil catching the hasty name substitution. "So no Greg, but you're after Nick?"

"I..." He cleared his throat a little, and turned to her as he picked up the DVD. "It's complicated. It's Greg and Nick, because Nick is with Greg. It's... a lot more complicated than I'm used to."

Catherine held up a hand. "Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me any more. " She leaned forward a moment. "Gil, I'm your friend and I'm telling you this as a friend. If they're what you want, do something about it. Or risk losing any chance."

One last chance, and he hadn't seen himself as exactly squandering it. He'd been adjusting and getting through what had happened with Paul and.... Getting to know Greg. Seeing Greg getting better. "I appreciate the concern, Catherine," Gil murmured. "But I have been taking steps."

"Nick lives for your approval even though he tries to hide it. Greg... Greg isn't as bulletproof as he makes out. Hell, one way or another, we all want your approval," Catherine replied and smiled a little. "Even me. Sometimes."

"Really?" Gil put the DVD away, too, and then shut and locked his briefcase. "You could get my approval if you flagged Nick and Greg out of the DNA lab, because it's going to take three men to get this out of the packaging and where it belongs."

"I get it, I get it." Catherine smiled at him and immediately stepped out of the office over to the DNA lab. He could just about hear her tone as she rousted the pair of them out.

She was right, Greg did look a little fragile and Nick worried, although it was difficult to tell if that was because of how Greg was looking or it had been from the kiss.

"Hey, Griss. Catherine said you needed some strong guys to help you, but she couldn't find any so we'd have to do?" Greg asked as he came in. 

"Warrick's still in autopsy. Could you close the door so we can get this out of the box?" Gil reached into his left pocket, and pulled out his utility blade. He had to say something to them.

"Sure thing," Nick replied as he pushed the door shut. "You need help cutting it open?"

"I think I have that covered. I'll need help getting it out." He popped the blade out. Cutting the packing tape was easy. Catching the look on Greg's face while he did it was less than easy. "It wasn't what it looked like, Greg."

There was a moment of silence and Greg shrugged. "Hey, man, it's no business of mine if a hot Meta decided you're irresistible." The thought of pretending he didn't have a clue what he was talking about didn't seem to occur to Greg.

"We, uh... I mean, your blinds were still pretty open, sir, so..."

"He did it to see if the two of you would react," Gil said once he'd cut the tape, and closed the knife. "That was all."

"Oh." Greg just stood there a moment, and closed his mouth. "Well, I feel stupid."

"He's very very far out of my league, Greg, and deeply in love with his Master," Gil repeated. "And most detrimental to whatever you were thinking, he's not either of you."

Greg twisted towards him and half tripped on a bit of packaging tape. "Whoa... either of us?"

Putting it out there seemed to be the easiest thing for Gil to do, so he nodded while he opened the flaps and eyed the molded biodegradable packing that was stuck to the sides. "Yes. Now come over here and help me lift it out of the box. Nicky, get the other side. Greg can pull the packaging off, and then get the door."

"Gotcha," Nick replied stopping staring for a moment and smiling slowly. He reached into the box and glanced over at Grissom. "So aside from just coming out and saying something, did you have anything else in mind?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead," Gil admitted as he got his fingers under the other side. They were bent over it close together. "Lift on my signal. One, two... lift."

For the next few moments, they were caught up with carefully manhandling the analyzer and then having Greg pull off the packing and attempting to direct them to the lab.

"Careful, careful! Left a bit... That's it." 

"If you could get Hodges to stop whatever he's doing," Gil said helpfully, muscles tight and not quite happy to be carrying such a heavy piece of machinery.

"Sure." Greg ducked in and disrupted the other man, before dragging him out to help even as he took some of the weight.

"I'm sure this is against House Health and Safety. I don't want my salary docked for this," Hodges commented halfheartedly helping. "These are the hands of an artist in the field of analysis."

"And this is your life suddenly getting a lot easier," Gil told him a little sharply as they backed towards the table where the old mass spec had been moved to the floor in favor of just having more table space.

"Yeah, this is a top of the range spectrometer," Greg said even as they heaved it up onto the table.

"Easy! Mind the fingers!" Hodges said, and looked at the equipment with a complete change in attitude. He even reached to stroke over the display. "She's a beauty."

Greg blinked and looked at him and then glanced at Nick and Grissom to see if he had imagined that. "Going to name 'her'?"

"I might." Hodges patted the machine with a possessive gesture.

"Much is suddenly explained," Gil smirked. "I'll leave the instruction manual here, because there are a few things different about it from the old one, and we need not to make any mistakes learning it." The main difference being that it worked.

"Oh, don't worry, we're going to get on well," Hodges replied and gave Greg a skeptical look. "I thought you were out in the field, Sanders?"

"He was. In fact, he and Nick are even working separate cases, though you wouldn't know it." Gil started to unwind the cord from the back, and looked to plug it in.

Greg startled a little. "Uh, shit... Sara's waiting for me!"

"Way to go, Sanders." Hodges smirked a little. "Better run along now."

"Yeah... see you later, Nick," Greg replied even as he grabbed his things. "Later, Griss."

"I'll talk to you later." Gil gave a slight wave of his hand. "Catherine is roaming the halls, Nick. How's your case going?"

"Good. We're heading out as soon as she gets the call from Brass with an Imperial Warrant," Nick replied leaving Hodges to his apparent love affair with the new Analyzer. "Greg had run the samples for me just before you uh, called us in."

They stepped away from the lab and Nick seemed to be watching him, waiting for something.

"Good." Now, if only Gil knew what Nick was waiting for? "I... look, maybe we could meet somewhere for breakfast after work, and talk about this then. But not while the clock is ticking."

Nick nodded. "Understood. Just don't pull a double." He smiled again and headed off. It seemed a promise to talk was all he had been waiting for.

Gil watched him go, and when he turned to head back to his office, he caught sight of Warrick coming down the hall.

He'd have time to think through what he'd just opened himself to. Later.

* * *

Greg liked Sara, he really did. He had to keep telling himself that because when Sara got in a Sara type mood -- intense, self-absorbed and with an attitude that seemed like it was going to boil over any moment -- she made him nervous.

Okay, he was self-aware and all that, he could say what he meant. She scared him. Something about the sharp barely controlled way she moved triggered all sorts of not so pleasant flash backs, and that in turn made him babble like an idiot. And that irritated her that much more.

He hadn't missed her original opinion of him -- 'subtle' and 'tact' weren't words synonymous with Sara Sidle -- but he could understand that. His game had been severely handicapped by the fact that half the time he was strung out on some pain killer, or hungry, or trying to deal with the thought of what lay in front of him that evening. She was a little like Grissom in some ways. Brilliant, thorough, uncompromising but with more of a tendency to flare up.

By the time they returned to the crime scene of their hunting accident victim, he was more skittery that Grissom's cockroach collection and horrifyingly aware that his mouth was running on and on looking for a way to defuse her anger, attitude, whatever the hell it was.

"So uh, we're using the tree as a point of reference right?"

"Right, that's the point of reference," she repeated back, sounding irritated. "We need to see if any other shots were fired..."

"So we do a forty-five degree angle right? Because of the spatter? Blood spatter?"

Well of course it was blood spatter. There wasn't anything else like that out here in the middle of nowhere. He looked down at his bright red top and considered how much of an idiot he looked in his high visibility slip over. He grinned a little.

"You look a lot better in this red plastic sleeve than I do," he said absently as he reached for the rope.

"It doesn't matter what we look like right now, Greg. It's a safety vest so no one mistakes your skinny ass for a deer. We rope it off, and then we look for the bullet," she told him while he unwound the rope.

"I got it," Greg replied. "I was just saying. And I'll have you know, my ass is getting less skinny." Greg tied it expertly to the tree. He handed one end to Sara. "Don't get any strange ideas with this. Grissom might not like it."

"What, if I just wrapped this around you and left you out here?" She smirked before checking the angle, and starting out in that direction. "Probably not. What was up with that guy who came in?"

"You didn't recognize him?" Greg asked. "He was dropping off a new Analyzer for the lab. Some sort of deal and...."

He should have learned to stop speaking somewhere after the first sentence.

"No, I didn't recognize him. We've got a new Analyzer?" Sara peered over at him as she kept walking and unraveling the rope.

"Yeah. That was Kal-El, the Personal of the Great House. Bruce Wayne's Personal. You know, the alien Meta?" Greg explained as he looped the rope to step away from the tree. He had thought Sara's mood had been due to that, but obviously not.

"Whoa, wait, what?" There was a pause as she stopped walking forwards. "A Meta Personal from one of the Great Houses? Kal-El? Kal-El knows Grissom?"

"Well, yeah. I mean he brought him the Analyzer and stuff, so he knows him," Greg shrugged as his mind told him to stop talking. His tongue of course just kept spilling out nervous words. “You know what Grissom is like. He knows everyone. Friends everywhere, or.... somethings everywhere. Judges, Freemen, Masters of Houses..."

"But, House Wayne. That's way out of all of our leagues, and I don't remember Gil ever working a case in Gotham City." Sara started walking again, shaking her head.

"Well everyone comes to Vegas, right?" Greg replied lulled into a false sense of security by the fact they were moving away. "He probably came across him at some party or something, and the guy took a shine to him or something."

"Took a shine to him? That's a little weird, after that breakup Grissom just had."

"Breakup? He hasn't had a break up..." Greg said automatically without thinking. "Uh... well, I wouldn't call it a break up ...well it sorta was."

Oh shit.

"...Sorta was?" Sara was giving him that look as she looked at him from five feet away. It was still close enough to lunge and get to his throat.

"It's Grissom's deal, okay?" Greg tried that as a defense. Fuck, he was floundering in quicksand and it was going to get him, he knew it. His heart was going nineteen to the dozen. "None of y... our business."

"Yeah? Then why do you know about it?"

Because. Because, because... uh...

"Grissom mentioned something," he said finally. Wow. Now he knew how suspects felt. He felt a silence draw out more words. "Just about the fact he had an intense sort of…. .relationship with a guy and it wasn't long term. Sort of mutual arrangement."

"While he was gone for a week about that imperial case?"

"Uh...." His inability to answer practically screamed the answer. "Well, I think so. I... they might have known each other before or something."

It shouldn't have surprised him when Sara tied off the end of her rope, and turned to him a little too intently. "So just what did Grissom do to get this Analyzer?"

"Something really really good?" Greg tried to joke off the tension with a wavering grin. "Uh... I don't know. I mean something with... for the Kal-El. House Wayne maybe. Book revisions. He was doing book revisions."

He seized on that with relief.

"Book revisions got us a new mass spec?" Sara kept frowning, kept watching Greg like he was something under a microscope. "Hey, get the metal detectors."

"Right... right." Anything but talk. He vowed not to open his mouth as he went back to their equipment and fetched the detectors. He brought hers back and passed it over, trying not to speak and put his foot in it any more.

He'd said he could keep a secret, and apparently, apparently, he couldn't, not really. Oh, god, Grissom would kill him and never invite him to breakfast again if he said anything else to Sara. She took her metal detector, eyeing him, and then said, "So who'd he have to fuck to get it?"

He couldn't believe she'd said that and he gaped at her. "Sara, come on. Leave it, okay?"

"No, dammit! I don't want to leave it," she snapped. "What makes him think he has to do that kind of stuff for us? And why do you know?"

"Because he didn't do it for the Analyzer, he did it..." Greg choked off the last bit of the sentence. "It's his life. His decisions. If he gets something out of it, that's great."

Comprehension dawned in her eyed even as she lifted the headset up towards her ears. "He did it for the Challenge."

It was strange. That sick guilty feeling he thought he had talked over and gotten past was back in force as he met Sara's eyes for a moment. It was almost so literal he nearly had to excuse himself to puke, but he managed to stay with it. He knew he didn't have to say anything. He knew that, and he could see Sara fierce and angry with all that focus now on him.

"He did it for you. And you're going to buy yourself out and then you'll be out of here and what he did for you won't even matter anymore, will it?" She bit that out, and didn't give him a chance to reply before she put her headset on and turned on the metal detector.

She might as well have hit him around the head with the thing as say that. The feeling was the same at least; a numb shock, and disconnected sense of nausea that churned in his stomach.

He wanted to defend himself, but found himself completely unable to do so. He just wasn't in the habit of doing that and he hated the fact his immediate instincts were to just cower away, as long experience told him that defiance, or arguing was a surefire way to very unpleasant consequences. He wanted to run away from the confrontation, but he forced himself to stay because he knew Grissom would excuse most things except fucking up a crime scene. So he picked up the metal detector and focused on that, trying not to think too hard about what that meant Sara really thought about him.

That was impossible. It was the only thing he could think of.

He wouldn't do that, and did everyone else who knew what had happened think that about him, too? That he was going to, to weasel his way out of there asap? Nick didn't seem to think that. Not Nick, and not Gil, but...

But there wasn't anything to do but hope that his metal detector picked up something.

He wandered, not looking over at Sara, not daring in case that was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of her anger. What if she knew that he had slept with Gil? Only actually slept, but still, the tangled closeness had been as satisfying as anything else he had experienced. She'd probably shoot him. Or something.

She seemed to be able to push it out of him, poke him where he was most vulnerable and he dreaded the trip back. He dreaded what she was thinking, because in a strange way, he did value her opinion.

Sara was a good CSI, and Gil doted on her a little, on her talents. He wished that he had that kind of natural skill, wished he knew why she seemed to think she owned Gil. 

Really wished they could find the damn bullet and get home.

The squeaks and whistles of the metal detector had him putting down his marker, but he was still thinking. Maybe he was that type of person and just didn't know it. After all, he hadn't given a thought to the money or literally paying Gil back. He just wasn't used thinking about money. That had to be rough on Gil; to get him into a House and then watch him buy out before him. Salt in the wound. Maybe that was why it hadn't gone further. Grissom said he was comfortable being bonded to House Braun but he had said before that he hated the fact he was sucked back in after paying off. Maybe there was a point there.

He just kept walking.

"Hey! Sanders! We're swept this far, we're not going to find the damn bullet," Sara shouted over to him.

He stopped and nodded, pushing off his earphones. He didn't look at her directly, unconsciously dropping into his old behavior patterns of not attracting attention and avoiding any volatile situation. He started to wind up the red rope, conscious of her watching him.

"Let's pack it in and go home," she told him. "It's starting to get light out."

He nodded. Dawn coming in. "Okay," he managed and was marginally proud that his voice didn't crack.

"Let's put the equipment back in the Tahoe and head back to the lab." Was he imagining, or was she sighing that?

He nodded again and said, "Sure. I'll get the cones and stuff." He could do that. He was a trainee Investigator and he could do the cone collecting with the best of them.

That was what a guy did when he was out in the field as a trainee. He lifted his head, and saw Sara untying the rope from the tree. And then saw a deer a few feet away from her.

Why the deer hadn't been scared off... Actually he did know why, they hadn't been talking. There had been silence for some time while they'd been not talking. He was mesmerized by the creature, right up to the point he saw a gleam of metal from the undergrowth on the opposite side of the clearing. How could they not see the jackets? Aside from the fact that there was a deer obscuring Sara and her top and he was out of the line of sight.

There was a slight movement and he didn't even think. He shouted her name and jumped at her even as the sound of gun firing cracked out.

Sara went down easily, pinned under him for a moment, even as the sound of the gunshot echoed in the forest. "What the...? Greg?"

Greg did a mental inventory, just for a moment. No obvious pain, no distressing leaking feelings (though he had to admit that it had been a close thing), no real discomfort aside from a slight jarring shock.

Hey, he was in luck. The deer had been, too, from the fact there was no carcass there and a very worried looking hunter charging over to them both. "Fucking hell! Don't be dead, don't be dead... god...."

Sara pushed herself up, and squirmed away from Greg while he sat up, too. "Jesus! Didn't you see the vests?! You could have killed us, and we're already out here investigating the death of a hunter!"

"Hey, there was a deer and you must have been behind it or something. I mean, why would a deer be that close to someone?" the hunter protested. "I didn't clip you, did I? You're buddy there looks a bit pale."

"I'm good," Greg replied. He was pretty sure he was. He kept trying to look at his shoulder and back just in case as he steadied himself against the tree.

Sara dusted the front of her jumpsuit off, and started to check herself and Greg at the same time. "I think you just... just missed."

It was a just miss. The plastic vest across Greg's back had been the kill of the day with a neat hole and tear across the back that showed exactly how close it had been.

Greg acted pretty oblivious to that, as he stood up. "Lucky for all of us, right?" he said hopefully.

"Damn right," the hunter said looking relieved.

Sara gave the man a glare, and patted Greg's back gently. "C'mon, we need to finish packing up and get back to the lab. Watch where you're firing, sir."

"I think I'm calling it a day here," the hunter said. "Take care of yourselves okay?" And he headed off into the trees; presumably back to his own vehicle.

Greg straightened a little more. "Equipment, right. Okay." They didn't have much else to pick up and his knees were a bit shaky and he could taste acid in his mouth. Going back to the lab seemed very sensible to him. "You okay, Sara? I mean, I didn't crush you or anything?"

"No, Greg. You..." She trailed off as she bent to pick up the rope she'd dropped, and went to tie his off. "You saved my life. The bullet nicked your jacket."

"It did?" He twisted to look at the jacket again. "Yeah, well close is no payoff," he said absently and then grimaced at the unfortunate use of common saying. That was a stupid thing to say considering what had caused that deathly hush that so suited the deer in the first place.

Given, too, how Sara had gotten to Vegas in the first place. She laughed, though, and went back to winding up the rope. "True."

He finish picking up the cones and found himself saying, as if he had no control over the words, "I wouldn't do that to Grissom, you know. Not ever. I know what I owe him."

She looked like she hadn't ever expected an answer, and reached out to take the markers from him before turning to head back to the SUV. "Okay. As long as you don't just... I've seen it happen enough times."

"Seen people hurt him?" Greg asked following her. "I mean, I get that you don't have a high opinion of me. Fair enough, but... I don't understand what I've done to make you think I would even think about doing something like that to him."

Or what business of hers that it was anyway.

She just gave a roll of her shoulders. "I just want to watch out for him. You flirt with everything that moves, Greg."

He couldn't really deny that. "It's how I've been ...trained. Do you want him or do you want to protect him?" he asked finally.

"Both, but... I'm clearly not his type. Wrong equipment." Her eyes scanned over him for a moment, the look-over less than scathing.

"Maybe," Greg had to agree there. Gil did seem to be fairly tilting to the male side of center. "He won't get hurt by me."

He couldn't say as much for himself, though.

Sara dug in her pockets for her keys, and murmured, "I'll hold out for evidence."

Which was what any good Investigator, particularly one trained by Grissom would do. It was pretty obvious that if he did hurt Grissom in any way, he would wish the bullet had hit him then instead of tugging playfully at his jacket.

He wouldn't go as far to say that she apologized and said she was wrong about him, and done any more than just observe that he might have saved her life, but not shouting, not confronting, was as good as the elusive thank you any day. Enough to stop his immediate need to throw up or get the shakes. That could wait until later.

That... would wait until later.

* * *

Warrick was probably surprised that Gil had told him that they were stopping for the day instead of sliding into a double or more. He'd justified it by pointing out that they had DNA to run on the two women, and that Warrick's glass door wasn't exactly going anywhere.

That surprised look had been an unexpected reaction. Warrick asking him if he was all right had made Gil want to laugh. He was better than all right. He was great. He had an untold fortune in his briefcase, and a different sort of priceless fortune hopefully having breakfast with him.

"Hey..." Catherine paused at the doorway. "Leaving on time, huh? Don't make me tell Ecklie." She grinned as she put the report on his desk. "The House Kinnison runner case. Done the write up."

"Great. Have you see Nick or Greg? Or are they still out in the field?" He'd feel a little silly if he'd wrapped up for the day and they were still MIA.

"Nick's packing up and, uh Greg..." Catherine grimaced. "Archie said Greg is puking his guts up in the toilet. I thought I was joking about him and Sara."

Shit. Gil moved to herd Catherine out of the office so he could lock up. "I'll go see what happened."

"Archie said it's probably shock or something. He didn't say what from though and, uh, Greg isn't throwing up in the ladies so..." So obviously she hadn't been in after him.

Gil gave a nod to her, and then headed past Catherine to duck into the men's bathroom down the hall.

Sure enough, there was the sound of quite spectacular retching from one of the stall punctuated by mumbled curses and comments. "Hey, I was proud of that dinner. I even cooked it... oh god." There was a pause. "I did not need to see it again. How can there be... any uh..." There was another hurking sound. "Any more in me? Thrown up more than I weigh!"

"Greg...?" Gil edged into the bathroom, and closed the door behind. Trust Greg to talk to himself while he threw up. Only Greg. He headed towards the stall. The door was closed, but he could see Greg kneeling in front of the toilet. 

"Oh great..." Greg moaned. "I can hand you out a sample if you want to bag it."

"Not particularly." Gil stood outside of the door, hesitant. "What happened?"

"Slightly long... and..." There was a gulp as Greg sat back. "Slightly pathetic story. Nothing to worry about."

Gil pulled the door open, peering into the space. "I'd still like to hear it," he offered. "Do you need a hand up?"

Greg seemed to consider. "Yeah. I seemed to have finished." He reached up for Grissom's hand. "It sucks being sick."

"It does suck," Gil agreed softly, and he reached a hand down to Greg to haul him up, pulling the moment that Greg's fingers grasped his. "I was going to take you and Nick out to breakfast somewhere, but if you're sick..."

"No, it's just reaction. Or something." Greg stood. "Gets me right in the stomach. Sara said it was pretty natural to go into some sort of shock."

"From...?" Gil pressed as he pulled at Greg until he followed him to the sink. Gil turned the tap on after setting his briefcase down at his feet, and grabbed a handful of paper towels to wet.

"Well, we sorta argued a bit and I tend to get this sick thing going on when there are confrontations. Haven't unlearned that response yet. And then there was this deer, and a hunter and he nearly shot Sara but I kinda tackled her to the ground," Greg recited as he splashed cool water over his face and rinsed out his mouth.

"WHAT?" Gil couldn't have stopped that reaction if he'd wanted to, but when Greg stood up a little more, he offered the damp paper towels for Greg to wash his face off with. "You were shot at?"

Greg gave a hesitant grin. "Yeah. Neat little holes in the back of my red visibility jacket. And my new shirt. Well it only tore it a little, but I only bought that a week ago. Nicky's going to be pissed because he likes this one. So what with that and the Sara thing, my stomach rebelled. Stress or shock or something. I'll be fine in a few minutes."

'You were shot at," Gil found himself repeating. "And it left a hole in your clothes. That..." Far too close, far far too close a call, and Gil could only just stand there, looking at the hesitant grin.

"Yeah? What's the big deal? It's not like I haven't been closer to being... you know?" Greg said sounding far from traumatized by the experience of being shot at.

That wasn't right. Gil reached for Greg, putting his fingers on his shoulder and then leaning a little to look at the back of Greg's shirt. "I know, just... I worry about you."

"Well, you should. I'm a worrisome kinda guy," Greg replied trying to watch what he was doing over his shoulder. "Really? It was the argument that made me vomit. But it kinda cleared the air a bit."

"Clear the air of what? There's no reason for any arguing to go on at work," Gil murmured. He slid a hand down to the hole, as if he could tell by touch that Greg was okay.

"Mmm." Greg seemed to lose focus a moment and then cleared his throat. "Well, she grilled me. Toasted, sautéed, lightly barbecued me with a flame-thrower and I.... I was nervous and she put things together and worked out some of what happened either from stuff I said or refused to say and then she just went off on one at me. I get it, I do. She's got no reason to think I'm out for anything more than an easy lay and she kinda implied I'd pretty much used you to get what I wanted."

Gil closed his eyes. He'd never wanted Sara to know for exactly that reason. It was easy to lean in and hug Greg then, a little tiredness in the motion. "Greg? Don't worry about it. Please. I should have told her myself."

"It's okay. After the shooting part, I just told her I knew what I owed you and you'd never be hurt by me. She cares about you. In a scary sort of obsessive way. She doesn't want you hurt. She said something about seeing it happen before?" Greg half asked.

"Let's just say that I don't have the best dating track record. She was probably referring to Teri." Gil didn't pull back yet, leaning in against Greg's warmth because it made him more sure that he was really okay.

Greg almost naturally reached to hold on to him. "You feel pretty good, Griss, but maybe I shouldn't grope you in the restroom here.”

"I don't care. I could buy myself out now, if someone wanted to harass me about it," Gil murmured. But he did make himself pull back, studying Greg. "You're not going to be sick again, are you?"

"No. It's funny, but the thought of arguments and things is worse than having them," Greg replied and shrugged. "I haven't even really thought about the bullet thing much. But I don't want Sara to know that this isn't reaction. I'd just look really pathetic otherwise."

He was going to have to talk to her later. Later, because for now, there was Greg. "Just don't worry about it. Let me handle it, Greg. But it's time to clock out now, so let's leave."

"You still want to go for breakfast?" Greg asked, self-consciously straightening up. "And talk to us both?"

"If it's all right with you," Gil deferred as he picked up his briefcase.

"It's more than fine, unless you're telling us you're not interested," Greg replied leading the way. "Nick'll be wondering where we are."

"You were sick in the bathroom, and I ran in to save you," Gil offered glibly, smiling as he followed after Greg. "Only you didn't need saving, so we stood around and talked."

"I'll have to tell him sometime. He'll probably freak or something," Greg said and then cut himself off as he caught sight of someone waiting for them. "Hey, Nicky."

"Hey." Nick gave them both kind of curious, raised-eyebrow smiles. "Who'll freak over what?"

People had a way, Gil decided, of knowing when they were being talked about. Gil lifted his eyebrows back at Nick, and said, "Greg thinks you'll react badly if he tells you about his day."

"Really?" Nick looked at Greg. 

"Uh, maybe we could talk about it at breakfast?" Greg suggested hopefully. "Away from here sorta thing."

"Away from here..." Nick cleared his throat. "Away from here sounds good. Where to?"

Some place where both Greg and Nick could relax before they both gave themselves heart attacks. Wasn't Gil supposed to be the one who handled relationships badly and tripped all over himself? "I know a decent place, if the two of you just want to follow me there."

"We can do that," Nick nodded as Greg took that as an instruction to join him.

"Yeah, just don't drive too fast. Grandmother driving, remember?" Greg teased lightly.

"Just get there safely and try to keep up with me," Gil told them both as he started down the hall with the two of them trailing after him. Two people. Two people. What the hell was he thinking, getting involved with two people at once? "Silver Dollar Diner, all right?"

"Got it." Nick replied, who was still shooting glances at Greg trying to figure out what was going on.

Greg gave Grissom a strangely hopeful sort of look as they headed off to their own vehicles. It was strange but there were times he was sure that the young lab tech could see into things more deeply that some of the others. But then he'd draw a completely wrong conclusion from seeing the correct information because of his background. How could he expect things to work with three of them?

Gil dug into his pocket for his keys. Well, it was worth a shot. And if it failed, he could... Would do what he'd always done. Shrug it off and cope, and keep working. It was as simple as that, because as long as he feigned good grace and a stiff upper lip, the ability to cope with it followed.

He wondered what kind of sign it was when he was already bracing for a breakup.

* * *

Ordinarily, Greg would have jumped at the chance of something full of calories and all the evil food groups his life had pretty much denied him to date. But throwing up was an unsettling thing and he didn't feel like wasting his or any of their money on something that he couldn't keep down. 

He also proved on the journey that telling Nick things like, '"Well I nearly got shot, that's what Griss was talking about," while he was driving was either a very clever move in that he had to keep driving, or a stupid one as they nearly ended up off the road.

As it was, he'd had to do some swift reassurance and Nicky was still shooting him sideways looks even as they started eating, and making inconsequential work related talk.

He loved the way that Nick would use his napkin. He loved the way Grissom would gesticulate with his fork and poke it pointedly at the air when he was making a point. He loved the easy look on Nick's face, and Grissom's smirk.

Greg really loved the fact that they were all there, and talking casually like Grissom didn't have a reason in mind when he'd asked them to go there with him. Nick was sitting close to Greg, thigh to thigh, and every so often Greg's feet nudged either Gil's leg, or the center of the table. Or both.

He guessed in some ways he was easy to please. But then again, he was the one pushing for a three-way relationship. It wasn't that they were unknown; it was just that the usual relationship-triune was couple plus Personal. Hell, he'd said it once, and he'd say it again, he'd Personal to Nick and Gil anytime.

He didn't dare broach the subject just in case Gil might say it was a bad idea and he was fired for seducing the boss. Not that he really thought that, but he had those sorts of wild imaginings to prepare him for the worst. He hoped Nick was less fatalistic in his approach, otherwise it would be the shortest non-relationship ever.

Nick seemed to be as not-touching the subject yet as Greg was, and that worried him a little in case Nick was as fatalistic as Greg. Then they were really fucked. All three of them.

Gil ate another forkful of fruit after the joking about pizza-sized Carpet swatches died down. 

"Man, I'm never gunna live that one down, am I?"

"No, no, you're not, and no one's going to let me live down the time the body fell on me when Jim opened the car door, so we're even," Gil grinned loosely. "Apparently I screamed like a girl in shock?"

"So he says," Nick commented, taking a mouthful of his more substantial breakfast. "But Jim..."

"Exaggerates. Sometimes." Greg put in as Nick was taking another mouthful. "It's only because you never seem to make a mistake, Griss. We've got to make the most of it."

He seemed to take it well, or agree, because he nodded. "I make a lot of mistakes. I just try to correct them before they become fatal mistakes."

"We've got the best record of an Imperial, team Griss. We ain't doing too badly," Nick said in his soft drawl. "No matter that the Sheriff wants more all the time."

"And the Analyzer will help if Hodges ever lets anyone else get a look in on it," Greg said. "I'm seeing an unwholesome attachment there."

"That's fine. It means more time where he can do his job and less time where the rest of us are doing it for him. I'm glad that Mr. Wayne kept his end of the deal." Gil took a sip of his coffee. "Even if Kal-El was a little... interested in pushing my hand."

"You mentioned something about that," Nick half asked.

Greg was impressed at his restraint. He would have blurted out a load of questions if he hadn't been trying not to do a repeat performance of his shift with Sara.

After all, Kal-El. The Meta, the Meta that all other Metas were compared to, had kissed their boss, Gil, at work.

"He's naturally intuitive with good hearing -- and like I said earlier, he was trying to get a rise out of both of you. I... have been wanting some time for my head to clear before I said anything about what's been going on or what hasn't been going on."

Finally. Finally they were going to talk.

"So I take it your head is a little clearer now?" Greg asked trying to prompt the conversation. "And... maybe you've got something to say?"

Nick shifted, and leaned forwards a little. "And I hope it's not 'I've decided to run off to the circus'."

"I've decided to..." Gil smiled when he set his coffee cup down. "If I were going to run, I'd run to someplace a great deal more entertaining for me than a circus. No, I'd just like to... give this a shot. I know that you and Greg, Nicky, are together, and Greg's been..."

"Greg's been what? Pushy? Demanding? A pain in the ass?" Greg felt he had to put in in a light tone.

"Snoring in my bed?" Gil smiled, as if he was unsure of where he was going. "You're both amazing men, and you're both quite different from each other at the same time, and I... am willing to go along with whatever kind of arrangement you want."

Greg grinned. "See, Nicky, this is why we need you, because I'd say exactly the same thing. I'd just want you both."

Nick seemed a little stunned for the minute, and glanced at them both. "Greg wants both of us, and you want both of us, Gil? And I'm head over heels for Greg but still can't quite shake thinking about how good you and Greg must look together, so... " Nick drank a sip of his juice. "I'm not seeing any problems. Except on how to split the bill."

"And how quickly we can get home..." Greg added. "So we can discuss some of the uh... preferences and particulars of all of us." He grinned a moment, not believing his luck. They were actually going to go for it. It was worth getting near killed for just to have a chance at this.

"I think between the three of us," Nick smirked a little. "We should, what, have every preference and particular just about covered?"

"Probably," Gil deadpanned. "Which just leaves the question of your place, your place, or mine."

"Whose got the biggest bed?" Greg said feeling bold. "I'm comfortable pretty much anywhere. Though I think I've still managed to get the place with the most uh... fun things tucked away in it. Unless that comes as standard in our building." He glanced at Grissom. "Seriously, I don't mind. I'd be just as happy sitting and watching a move or something if that's all we're comfortable with."

And he'd watched movies with Grissom, everything from Noir to silent to shit blows up, which really needed to be just made a genre in and of itself. "We could go for wherever you two'd be most comfortable?" Nick offered. "I'm good on anyone's territory."

"Greg's place, then...?" Gil half-asked.

"I'm cool with that," Greg replied still scarcely believing it. "Man, I can't believe this is happening!"

"Why?" It wasn't a bad kind of why, just Gil being... well, Gil, probing while he sat back and stretched his legs out a little, sipping at his coffee.

"Because." And he had to think about it a little. He could come up with all sorts of glib answers but when it came to Gil and Nick, he seemed to default to honesty. "I don't get that lucky."

"Luck is how we attribute natural random occurrences. Some people have more good occurrences than bad, and some people have more bad random occurrences than good, but it's like flipping a coin. Luck has nothing to do with it." Gil peered at the bottom of his coffee cup, and then shifted to get up. "I'll get the check."

"I should," Greg replied, feeling a faint hint of guilt lingering from the discussion with Sara about him buying out. "Least I can do now I have money, right?" He moved to try and beat Gil up. "You and Nick get the cars out."

"Are you sure? It's really not a problem..."

"Oh, hell." Nick put a hand on Greg's ass and gave him a little push as he scooted out. "We'll draw straws next time. One of you get it while I see if anyone's double-parked behind us."

"I'll get it," Greg replied, grinning. They were going to have to work out this dynamic between them. He knew Gil wasn't completely passive, at least he hoped not, but the man seemed extra cautious around them as if he had to give way in all things. He didn't want that to be the way all the time.

"You go on back, Gil... we'll catch up. Here, take my keys." He tossed them over, his most precious possessions.

Gil caught them. "You want me to just... go to your apartment and walk in?"

"Yeah. That's the idea. Put some coffee on or something," Greg replied. Personal space was still a little bit of a mystery to him. Half the time he could have no problem letting people in, and then he would shut them out of his bedroom. But he knew Gil and he trusted him. Him opening up his place was no big deal.

After all, if Gil got a head start, he might relax before they got there. "Sure." There was a curious tip to Gil's mouth as he turned to head to the door that Nick had already headed out of. "See you there."

With them both out of there, Greg exhaled for a moment, his hands shaking just a little. He didn't want to blow this, he never wanted to screw this up, but all he could think of was how things might turn out later on. Maybe with Nick there, Grissom would see he was okay, or... something. He didn't know, but he knew he wanted something that the other man could give him. He just wasn't sure what it was.

But he would give everything for a hint of that promise, as long as it didn't mean giving up Nick. He couldn't do that, not now, not ever.

He had to find a way to make this work.

And half the fight was getting the chance? Right. The lady at the counter smiled at him when he went up to pay, and when he handed over his debit card. Hopefully, he could manage to quell his overactive libido long enough not to screw this chance up. He was still considering this as he paid and eventually left to find Nick to follow Grissom home.

* * *

Greg's apartment was starting to feel less like a hotel room and more like... an apartment. Gil decided that he liked the broken in look of the place. There was a pair of sneakers under the coffee table, and not all of the furniture blandly matched anymore, which said that Greg had probably been out furniture shopping with Nick.

Good. He was settling in. At least until whatever the three of them were up to backfired, but Gil was trying, trying hard, not to think about that. He was there, pouring water into Greg's coffee pot, trying to work out how the dynamics of a threesome worked. He was comfortable with Greg, kissing, touching, occasionally stroking Greg off, but not much else. And throw Nick into the equation...

He couldn't help thinking that Greg would naturally choose Nick over him. It mystified him that Greg was even interested with Nick so evidently besotted by him. He wasn't overly sure how much he was convinced by the assertion that Nick was interested in him as well.

Although he had made that comment about what he and Greg would be like together.

The door rattled a little and he could hear them talking as they came in.

"...was too close, Greg. "

"I told you, I was in more danger from Sara kneeing me for pouncing on her. Greggo Junior was quivering in his boots."

"Greggo Junior's taken to wearing boots? This I have to see." Nick was laughing, and with the layout of Greg's apartment being the same as the layout for Gil's, it was just a matter of turning around to see them.

"Coffee should be ready in a few."

"Cool," Greg was practically bouncing with energy again, a far cry from the young man who had been throwing up a few hours before. "Griss, tell Nick I'm fine. He doesn't believe me."

"He's physically fine. It didn't leave a bruise, but his shirt was gravely injured," Gil murmured. "And we're not going to have any of the rest of you out in the woods during dusk or dawn until deer hunting season is over."

Nick nodded, seeming to accept that assessment from Grissom where Greg had obviously been trying to reassure him in vain. "I liked that shirt. It's one of the few he bought that isn't wild."

"I'm a wild kinda guy, Nick. I can't help it. And you kept telling me I looked fine in what I was trying on," Greg protested as he half bounced over to Grissom and without any hint of reservation put his arms around him from behind like he did sometimes when they were down in Grissom's flat. "Did you find the good coffee I bought? I never knew there were so many different kinds. It smelled fantastic."

"I made it a little stronger since the coffee back at breakfast was pretty weak." The arms around him were nice, and the expression on Nick's face... Interesting, Gil decided as he slid a hand to rest over Greg's arms for a moment. "Except I couldn't find any coffee mugs."

"You mean you don't just drink it out of the pot?" Greg said, leaning against him for a moment. "I don't have many so I think all the ones I have are in the dishwasher. Should be clean."

"The most obvious place is always the last place you look," Gil mused, letting Greg lean for a long moment, before he twisted to get an arm behind Greg's back so he'd have one free hand to dig through the dishwasher. "Are you sure you're not one of those tentacle monsters in that movie we watched?"

"Secretly I have the Meta-ability of tentacles, it's true," Greg replied in a grave tone and grinned over at Nick. "I'm also not so secretly after some porn tonight. Today. Whenever. Nicky usually helps me out."

"Nicky helps you out with what? Getting the time of day right, or the porn?" Nick seemed to finally jolt to his senses after his drop-jawed facial expression faded away a little. 

"Both?" Gil popped the dishwasher open, and lifted three coffee mugs from the top tray.

"Definitely both," Greg replied releasing Gil to help him out. "But you know, if you guys want to just like bond, that's fine, too."

"Let's just..." Gil could almost fill the words in that were coming out of Nick's mouth, and he glanced over to Greg and mouthed them along with Nick. "See what happens?" Nick was glancing between them as he said that, and looked at Gil. "What, man?"

"I'm sorry. I've said it a lot myself, lately," Gil grinned as he leaned against the counter. "But it seems like a good noncommittal plan."

"I inspire the noncommittal in people," Greg replied and there was a slight hesitancy in his smile. "I'll stop pushing. Or try to." He took a mug of the coffee. "I did, however, buy a couch big enough for three."

“I helped," Nick added as he leaned past Gil to grab his mug, too. "And Greg? It's not noncommittal so much as... no pressure?"

"I think Catherine would tell you that the best way to get me to do something is to kick me in the ass," Gil drawled, taking a sip as he watched them both, and walked closer to them, trying to close the somewhat awkward space.

"Well considering how we all are, we could use that," Greg replied gently wandering towards the couch. "We're all being too polite."

"Which is funny because Greg's the only person who's actually polite at work." Gil took another sip of the coffee, and then resolved to stop using it as a prop, a shield to protect himself. He set it down on the counter, and decided to bridge the gap that was making him nervous -- not Greg, but Nick.

Hopefully when he kissed Nicky, he wouldn't end up with third degree coffee burns anywhere.

Nick was watching Greg for a moment and not paying full attention to Grissom until he was practically right in his personal space. He turned sipping his coffee and there was the older man, making him appear startled for a moment. "Hey."

"Hi, yourself, Nicky." Gil took the mug from Nick's hands, pleased when the fingers just relented and let go so Gil could put it down like he'd put down his own mug. Then he slid a hand into Nick's hair, waiting for a protest -- otherwise he was going forwards with it.

The other man just looked at him with a faintly stunned expression, but didn't flinch, didn't draw back even as Greg knelt up on the couch and rested his arms on the top so he could watch them in comfort.

There were no signals saying no that he could see,

"I've wanted to do this for years," Gil whispered, and then pressed his mouth against Nick's, lips slightly parted, but not gently. He didn't want to kiss him soft and gentle, he wanted to show Nick just how badly he wanted him.

There was an initial moment of shock and then, much to his amazement, Nick responded as if he had just been presented with a fantasy. The rough approach seemed to spark something in the younger man and there were hands suddenly on him. On his back, his neck, in his hair and a hard body against his as lips seemed more intent on devouring him than anything else.

He'd apparently found out a way to turn off Nick's 'excruciatingly polite' switch, because he was backed up against the countertop in no time flat, and had to twist to reverse their positions so Nick was pinned. Give and take, and that was really good, friction against his mouth and Nick's tongue teasing against his own for a minute before Gil pulled back, breathing a little hard.

"Hi."

"Man...." Nick stared at him. "Griss... Gil..." He reached for him again, leaning against the work top to brace himself. He seemed oblivious to everything aside from continuing that kiss.

"Sofa, and Greg," he said simply, hands on Nick's muscled sides as he started to walk backwards into the living room. "Greg, did you like what you saw?"

"Don't step in the drool as you come over," Greg replied having to clear his throat to speak. "I want what I saw. There's the pair of you being so careful with me and.... damn me...."

"I've had time to think on it," Gil said, still looking at Nick's face as they got over to the sofa, close enough for Greg to grab onto either or both of them. "I understand what you want, Greg. Other than both of us."

"Yeah?" Greg twisted so he could tug at them both. "My cake and eat it?"

Gil let Nick go, and they ended up book-ending Greg on the sofa. "That's what I'd call it."

Nick agreed. "You're right about that. He'll stop at nothing." He grinned a little. "He's been corrupting me."

Greg grinned. "Come on, you loved it."

"I loved it," Nick admitted as he shifted, sliding an arm around Greg's shoulders, first one and then the other, turning him towards Gil. Ah, that was an easy cue to take, and Gil shifted to blanket Greg carefully, starting to take Greg's shirt off. 

"Let's see if I can help, then."

"Things are looking very promising," Greg commented, not resisting at all. "And there I was thinking after that kiss I'd be lucky if you remembered I was here."

"I think Nick and I were... just clearing something up," Gil mused as he worked slowly on buttons. After all, why should Greg have two shirts damaged in one night? Nick was working with him, one hand slipping around between them to fiddle with Greg's jeans. He shot Nick a glance over Greg's shoulder, and Nick nodded agreement. It wasn't about them, Gil and Nick -- that was a side benefit of agreeing to share Greg.

"Uh-huh. My tonsils."

"They'd be polished by now then," Greg responded, leaning back into Nick, totally relaxed. "Mm. Want me to do anything?"

"Relax," Gil said, putting a slight tone of order into it, just to see if his hunch was right. He got the shirt unbuttoned and pushed it open.

The reaction was immediate. It was if the tone bypassed Greg's decision-making capabilities and he just did exactly what was asked. And seemed very happy about it. He lay there watching them both, his reaction growing as they made it to skin. Skin that was pretty much healed up from his experiences and showing a better tone even after the few weeks of being out of Wesker.

"I'm relaxed," Greg replied. "Nicky's pretty comfortable to lie on."

"I know I am," Nick joked loosely. He'd just gotten the zipper undone, and wasted no time sliding his hands briefly over Greg's boxers. 

"Nick, pull his shirt off while I slide his jeans off," Gil murmured. He was keeping it tantalizing, leaning down to kiss Greg's chest briefly before he sat back, pulling gently at Greg's belt loops.

"That's... fantastic. " Greg tried moving a little under that touch. He shifted a little to make it easy for Nick to get off his shirt, while moving his hips a little.

It was like undressing a squirming snake, except the squirming helped Gil peel Greg's jeans off of his legs, and helped Nick get his shirt off. Soon he was down to boxers, and they were tented up while Gil took his socks off. "Nice. You look better every time I see you this way."

"I thought you were usually interested in going to sleep," Greg teased a little, even as Nick tugged off his top and got him down to bare skin, before wrapping his arms around him again.

"So he does sleep?" Nick teased, hands caressing down Greg's side. "Damn. Here I always thought Gil didn't need sleep."

"I've been working my way up to this," he excused, rubbing his fingers over Greg's calf muscles.

"He sleeps. Sometimes he even snores. A little. And does this weird thing with his legs like I'm going to run off or something," Greg informed Nick, while trying to open his legs a little. "God. Both of you."

"Yeah," Nick murmured. "Both of us. You and me, and Gil, and hey, maybe I'll get my pants off sometime. And maybe Gil'll get undressed, too...?" That was amusingly hopeful of him, and Gil just smiled as he leaned back up to kiss Greg's stomach. The sofa wasn't quite quite large enough for them to be doing that.

"I don't care, as long as you don't stop," Greg said with a chuckle. "I should tell you that Gil has a very nice body. And Nick has a great one, and I have a... skinny one." He laughed a little at himself. "But at least it's not as colorful right now."

He moved closer then, letting Greg sprawl his legs on either side of Gil, and started to unbutton his own shirt. "I can't say that shade of green-purple becomes you. A nice warm red, now..." 

"Talking about when I get embarrassed or you've been tormenting me a little?" Greg asked, grinning as he settled comfortably, and his wild hair finally tickled against Nick's chest after he was rid of the shirt. "I thought that it would be more a case of me... uh... attending to you guys."

"There are all kinds of submission, Greg." Gil had to pause to unbutton his shirtsleeves. Soon all any of them would have on would be their cuffs. 

"If that's what you want," Nick agreed as he squirmed a little to get his pants off without dislodging Greg.

“Hey, we can save that for another time. I'm interested in where you guys are going with this. I mean, really interested." Greg's expression had lit up at the squirming and he didn't seem to be overly inclined to help do anything to stop that squirming from happening again.

"Good." Gil dropped his shirt on the floor, and then leaned back to unbutton his slacks. He was going to have to stand up, and so was Nick, probably.

"We could all just... kinda make it to the bed if you want?" Greg offered looking up at the older man. "I mean, I want you to be comfortable. That and this is hot."

"Bed seems good," Nick agreed, wrapping his arms around Greg's body to haul him up when he stood up. "It's huge, Gil. Trust me."

Gil rubbed his palm over Greg's thigh, and slipped to his feet. "Then maybe we should go there."

"Great!" Greg found his footing even as Nick half lifted him, but made no effort to separate himself from the other man. "It's big, it has anything you might want or need close to hand...." Greg grinned at them both and let Nick lead him in. "Lets try that again."

"But with more space," Nick murmured, gesturing for Gil to come along. He toed off his shoes and abandoned them in the living room before padding off after Greg.

Greg had pretty much thrown himself onto the bed and was waiting for them both. He looked amazed and aroused at the same time, as if he genuinely meant what he had said about not believing it was happening. "Much better.”

Gil walked slower, peering around Greg's bedroom once they walked through the hallway to get there. "This is nice..." A lot less lived-in looking than his own place, except maybe Gil's just needed a fresh coat of paint. The bed looked plush and massive, enough that he hesitated as he started to unbutton his pants. "Tell me that you bought that."

"Came with the place, man," Greg replied. "And as it has so many interesting features that we've been discovering I'm pretty sure I'm keeping it."

Nick blushed a little as Greg smiled at him with a smug expression. "Uh, yeah. Greg sort of things."

"There're d-rings attached to the underside?" Gil guessed. He took the time to wrap his belt around his hand, enjoying the sight of Greg sprawled out naked, and then Nick bent over to unlace his shoes, pants slipping down a little.

God, Greg was right. Nick did have a great body. It was hard not to appreciate that when it demonstrated so well in front of him.

"Yeah. Lots of them. And there was a box of things, too. I'm not convinced that Greg didn't buy those."

"I swear, they were in the closet when I got here," Greg replied, trying to sound innocent. "I haven't had chance to do that sort of shopping."

"Only to buy stock in Lime Green Shirt, Inc.," Nick grinned as he nudged his shoes away and slipped his boxers and pants down entirely.

God, he had a tight bubble ass.

Greg was looking at him with a bright interested look as well. "I'm experimenting. Gotta be better than what I was wearing." Greg raised an eyebrow. "God, you two look good. Coming in?"

"Yes, just..." Gil didn't manage the teasing undress that Nick had done, but he started towards the bed the moment that his boxers and pants were pooled on the floor. He was conscious that Nick did appear to be following his lead although nothing had been said explicitly. 

"Good. Because, you know... I could just come from seeing you guys like this in my room. Hair trigger sometimes," Greg commented.

"Refractory period that could put any of us to shame," Gil agreed, putting a knee on the end of the bed while Nick came at Greg from the side.

"Mmhmm. I never grew up," Greg announced cheerfully. "So, what are you planning to do with me? Do I get information?"

"I don't know, Greg. Nick? Do you think he should get any kind of advanced warning?" Gil tilted his head a little as he moved across the bed to touch Greg.

"Nah. I know he likes not knowing," Nick replied as he reached for the younger man. "Don't let him try and fool you."

"Nick, that's not..." He stopped speaking at the first touch as if somehow that was making it real. Nick's fingers on his chest, Gil's hand pressing against his hip while Gil leaned on his left hand and bent to kiss the other hip, avoiding Greg's dick. 

"So... many hands," Greg said after a moment's pause, obviously appreciating the sensations. "Damn, that's good."

"Hold still," Nick murmured as he touched him with warm hands.

Gil liked the look of Greg squirming that way, liked the way he arched and twisted beneath them. "I wonder if there's enough of you to go around," he teased.

"I'm beginning to doubt it," Greg replied smiling. "Because, you know, you're the type of guy to experiment. The guys have told me all about that, and I haven't forgotten the mildew."

"You helped solve the case," Gil drawled. Nick stroked a hand down his back, and it broke Gil from the reverie of almost remembering that case.

"I'm going to declare a no case talk rule in bed." Nick tipped his head as he stretched out beside Greg, and leaned his head in to kiss Greg's neck. 

"No case talk. I could even try to stop talking," Gil suggested. He'd been kissing at Greg's hip, but it was easy to shift and kiss at the underside of Greg's dick instead.

That made him squirm almost immediately, "Oh God!" Greg moved blissfully. "Can't even remember my name now...." Good. If Greg couldn't remember his name, then he was getting into the right mindset. Gil tipped his head up, nuzzled against Greg's erection before he took the head of it into his mouth. The smooth skin around it was nice. Nick was the only one in the room with pubic hair intact.

Nick was nuzzling over his chest and and up his neck, stopping Greg's comments for a long time with his own kisses. For a while, there was near silence save for half muffled sounds and the touch of lips to skin.

Greg emerged gasping. "Nick?.. like before? Under me?"

Gil lifted his head, and licked his lips, looking up the line of Greg's body while he kissed at his hip again and squeezed the base of Greg's dick with two fingers.

"Under you when?" Nick drawled. "What time?"

"I was sitting on you a minute ago," Greg managed and then had to swallow at that pressure. "Fuck , one of you ...please? Inside?"

His coherency was particularly vague, and Gil could appreciate why. It was hard to stay focused.

Vague, strained. He wanted to be touched more, wanted sex. Gil could see Nick arch against Greg, see him shift and glance at Gil. "We could do that..."

"Want you both," Greg breathed, arching with Nick. "I don't care how, whatever you want."

Gil moved up to Greg's other side, running a hand over Greg's stomach. "I hate to say it, but we probably need to work on the logistics."

"Logist away,"Greg pleaded. "Hell, I've had two at once before, just... I want you both. I want us all connected."

Two at once. That could mean so many ways; someone fucking Greg, and then someone in his mouth, or two people in him, or... Gil glanced to Nick, and then leaned in to kiss Greg's mouth. "We will be. But who do you want in you?"

The groan Nick gave said it all, and he shifted an arm under Greg to get him to sit up. "God that sounds hot. Sit up, and...."

Greg was very easily led, especially when he was getting what he wanted. "How should I... uh...?"

A few mental images went through his mind, and then Gil reached his hands to Greg's shoulders while Nick started to sit him up. "I can be under you. That gives Nick a lot of options..."

"Let's do that. Having options is a good thing right?" Greg replied, still looking zoned out from just having so much. Hands all over him, being shared between the two of them. And as uncomfortable as that could be, Gil comforted himself knowing that he and Nick weren't going to hurt Greg.

"I'll get the lube," Nick offered, shifting off of the mattress while Gil laid back.

All it took to get Greg kneeling over his hips was gentle guiding hands. "You're gorgeous, Greg."

Greg huffed a laugh. "I never thought I'd hear you say that about me," he managed.

Nick handed Grissom the lube, even as he contemplated what position might be best. Gil started to unscrew the lube one handed, fingers idling against Greg's hipbone. "Why's that? You are, Greg, you're gorgeous. You have a natural..."

"Sex appeal," Nick suggested, kneeling up behind Greg. "Hey, I have an idea. Hand me back the lube, Gil."

"Kal-El has sex appeal. I just... kinda appeal." He paused and twisted a little. "Watcha doing?"

Nick leaned up against his back, and Gil liked the sight of them, Nick tipping his head down to kiss Greg's shoulder. Then after a moment, fingers brushed slickly against Gil's dick -- and since Nick had two hands, it explained a lot of Greg's sudden wide-eyedness.

"Uhn... Nick!" Greg had obviously not been expecting that immediately, but the tense instinctive reaction visibly melted, even as Nick's fingers very thoroughly coated and prepared Gil and Greg as well from the way he was behaving.

"Oh, god." He closed his eyes for a half second, and couldn't quite help himself from stroking Greg's cock gently, slowly, matching the way that Nick was stroking him, slicking him up. "Nick, you're a tease..."

"I try."

"Y… You have no idea..." Greg managed and smiled even as he closed his eyes and arched back. "But I love it. I love the way you feel. Both of you feel."

"Yeah? This is probably the hottest thing I've done in my whole life," Nick smirked as he gave Gil one last stroke. Then Gil could feel fingers molding him straight up, holding him still. "There we go, and Greg, just edge down now..."

"Mmm." Gil sighed, fingers flexing on Greg's hips when he could feel the press of skin against him.

"It's like a... guided... tour," Greg half gasped. "Makes it a lot easier... next stop... Mount Grissom..."

He very nearly did laugh at the appalling word play.

"Which occasionally explodes," Gil groaned. Nick squeezed him, almost punishment for that joke, and for a moment the fingers of Nick's other hand closed over top of his own fingers, for the brief moment when the head of his dick slipped into Greg. 

Greg threw his head back his exclamation coming out as an explosive breath as he pushed down. "Oh... damn you feel big..."

"He's an eyeful. Assful?" Nick's fingers slipped to toy with Gil's balls, making him arch even while Gil could see Nick reaching around Greg to do the same to him. "Mm, shaved skin does have a good feel to it."

"Greg? I think Nick just realized how to be in control..."

"Nicky!" Greg shivered and the distraction unsettled him enough that he sank a little quickly onto Gil's cock. He actually did cry out then, clutching at anyone or anything wildly.

It was a good thing that he had hands all over him, Gil's at his hips to hold onto him even while Greg's arms flailed a little. Greg was so tight, comfortable and warm and amazing around his dick, even though Gil was just past halfway in. "Easy..."

Greg gratefully stabilized there a moment, before breathing deeply. "Mm. Thanks." It didn't seem to slow him down too much. A few seconds adjusting and then he was moving, twisting, and inching his way deeper down, moving in reaction to the touches and the dictates of gravity. It wasn't long before he drifted off into his own Greg-zone again.

Nick was helping, too, nuzzling at Greg's neck, kissing his shoulders, rocking against his back until Gil thought that Nick was going to try to fuck Greg, too. "You're gorgeous like this," Gil reiterated softly, not even sure that Greg heard him.

There was no coherent answer, but one of Greg's hands reached to try and twine and tangle with his own fingers, even as the younger man rocked, and twisted his way towards full penetration in his ass. He moaned with the effort.

"I don't think... he can hear you, Gil," Nick murmured. "He kinda trances out sometimes."

"I know how it goes." Gil clutched Greg's fingers, and lifted his hips a little, grinding up against Greg even though he was all the way in. "Greg. Move for me, Greg."

He moved. He moved like Catherine when she demonstrated her Pleasure grade dancers gem increment after a few too many drinks. He moved slowly and impossibly sensuously, evidently lost in the sensation of it all, and totally uninhibited as if there was nothing in the world he would rather do than this here and now but feel them both, Gil in him and Nick against him. "Fuck..." Gil moved against Greg, trying to keep counterpoint to such elegance of motion with his own thrusts while Nick molded himself against Greg's back and kept working to fondle them both.

He heard Nick murmured, "Beautiful..." even as the other man's fingers teased at him even while Greg seemed intent on treating him to a lengthy, drawn out fuck. 

In a moment where he had to pause, muscles trembling, he seemed to drift back again and Greg murmured, "Nicky?.. thought you were... gonna..."

"Nah. I'm good back here." Nick drawled that, just barely loud enough for Gil to hear it, and it made Gil squeeze Greg's hand gently, shifting his hips up a little bit. 

"Then, help me?" Greg asked. "And... fuck along my ass. It's... good. It all feels good." He seemed determined it would all go together.

"It does all feel good," Gil murmured, looking up at them both looming over top of him. He could feel when Nick started to rock against Greg with a purpose, his own balls hitting Gil's while he started to move up and down with Greg, leaving Gil to wrap a hand around Greg's dick.

There didn't seem to be an untouched piece of flesh anywhere. Greg had a surprising amount of stamina, and he could feel wiry muscles moving against him as the heat started to grow in earnest. Greg seemed to be carried by Nick's thrusting rhythm and followed it with ever increasing intensity.

"Harder!" Greg demanded in a rough voice. "Oh god... Gil! Nick..."

"How... much harder?" Gil gasped, shoving his hips up again and again, sharply as he could. He was starting to lose himself in it at long last, concentrating on the thrust and tightness of Greg's ass.

That seemed to be hard enough as it made Greg groan with each jolt, even as he pushed back onto Gil's cock hard and at the same time back into Nick as well.

If there was one thing that Greg seemed to have developed in House Wesker, it was an incredible stamina, even taking into account his youth. He should have been overwhelmed by the dual tag team effort by the two of them but there was no sign of that. He was the one in control, the one that both Nick and Gil were trying and failing to quite overwhelm. Gil bit back a hiss, and started to stroke harder at Greg's dick. 

"C'mon. C'mon..."

It was less the stroking and more that words that caused the shift in his responses. Suddenly he was unmistakably building towards orgasm and carrying both his lovers along with him with every move and internal squeeze of muscles. There was still a slight edge of something desperate and needy in the way he moved, and not just for the physical climax.

Just a hint of him trying too hard, as if there were high stakes connected with his every movement and groan.

"Easy... easy, Greg..." Nick tried to steady him a little, and had to resort to wrapping arms around his torso to physically slow him.

It helped Nick steady himself, too, steady his own rocking, but the three of them were losing rhythm and pace was falling apart into abandoned motion, the final few shifts of cock and ass and hips to just reach that point where everything peaked and then tumbled over the edge again.

Gil had thought he'd never come.

Greg was the first to hit that point with a blinding expression of amazement that had him arching back into Nick's arms. Somewhere in the feeling of Greg slouching forwards, supported by Nick's arms, and the sudden shock of tightness, Gil lost track of his own state of orgasm until after it hit. He was a little distracted by the splash of warmth on his torso and then another on his legs that had to be some sort of ricochet shot from Nick's own release. Nick groaned rather than bellowed and Gil could see his arm's squeeze tightly around Greg in those last moments, preventing him from collapsing.

"Man, oh man, Greg... you sure as hell don't need to work out ..." Nick moaned. "Griss? Gil... he didn't give you a heart attack or somethin'?"

He managed a soft laugh, sticky fingers grasping tight at Greg's hip. "No, I'm still alive. Not sure how, but I'm alive."

Greg had gone almost completely boneless and Nick half lifted him so he could lie him down, half on top of Grissom. Automatically, like some natural response, Greg latched onto Grissom and used what appeared to be his last remaining strength to nuzzle in next to him.

Nick lay down against Gil's side, and Gil shifted an arm to pull Nick in closer, too. They were all hot, and sweaty, and sticky, and it didn't matter. It felt amazing to be there, with no particular pressure to serve either of them. Just to feel and stroke and enjoy that Greg had latched onto him. 

"Hey, Gil." Nick was smirking at him, and reached a hand to run fingers through Greg's hair. "I'm wiped out. You?"

"That was amazing."

"Yeah. I think someone was trying to impress," Nick glanced over at Greg who had his eyes closed and was slowing his breathing.

"I heard that."

"We know." Gil could touch them both at the same time, left hand idling over Nick's back, right hand stroking up Greg's spine and over the texture of scars to rest at the back of Greg's neck. "You feel all right?"

"Feel great. It was okay, right?" Greg looked up at him, his dark eyes worried and hopeful.

"Better than--"

"Great." Gil talked the same moment as Nick, their assurances overlapping for a moment before Gil laughed quietly to himself and closed his eyes. "This is comfortable, too. I could do this forever."

"Mmm... best part," Greg replied fervently. He pressed a soft kiss to Grissom's cheek. "I feel like Nicky didn't get his money's worth though."

"Nick didn't pay a thing and had a great time," Nick grinned at Greg. "Trust me. We can move things around a little after we haven't all had long shitty shifts."

"This is going to work, right?" Greg asked after a silent pause. His voice was really soft and just a little anxious; as if he hadn't just spent a long time convincing them with every resource he had that they would be foolish not to make it work.

"It's going to work," Gil agreed, opening one eye to peek at Greg. There was a lot more than sex that would make Gil want to make it work. He'd already proven to himself that he enjoyed Greg's company, enjoyed being with him. The sex was a bonus. "We'll make it work."

Greg gave a more contented sigh and his lips moved in what should have been a silent and invisible private mantra to himself.

To someone who had learned to lip read as practically his first language, the mouthed syllables of, 'Love you, Gil, love you both,' was as clear as if he had declared them through a bullhorn.

He wasn't sure what love was, or if it existed in that fairy tale style that so many people believed in. But Gil did believe in comfort and ease and the little realities like Greg's soft sighs and Nick's wandering hands. "You, too."

Making it work was the least Gil could do.

* * *

Usually every twenty-four hours was interesting for Gil. He wasn't ever sure whose apartment they were going to, though in general it was Greg's. There were three sets of house keys on his key chain, and that had been the situation for a very comfortable ten months now.

The past twenty-four hours had been fascinatingly interesting because he'd made Greg cry. It had just been a whim; Nick had brought his Xbox over, and hooked it up to Greg's tv set a couple of months before, and Greg had had nothing but praise for it. So Gil had decided to get Greg something like that, just as a surprise. A portable system, since they did spend so much time waiting or driving or... Well, it had seemed reasonable since Greg always liked to be busy or doing something.

He'd given it to Greg just because he wanted to and had been astonished to see the younger man just emotionally fall apart in front of him. Over a simple spur of the moment gift.

That apparently was the point. Even though Greg had done his best to lock himself away, bury and generally hide any sign that he was crying, he had eventually managed to track him down and force the answer out of him.

It seemed that nobody had ever liked him enough to just buy him a gift for no reason before. He'd never owned anything that couldn't be used or worn before.

Gil, for all of his insight, hadn't thought about that before, hadn't seen it as a possibility. He'd never thought that Greg would cry and hide from him and Nicky because he'd given Greg something that was amusement value only. 

It was still bothering Gil while he drove Catherine to their scene for the night. Twenty-four hours was going to become thirty-six or forty-eight. Catherine's engine block had cracked sometime between parking, and heading out with her copy of the assignment sheet to meet Gil out there.

She was watching him. It had become obvious how much she watched him when he had come in the day after he and Greg and Nick had gotten together and smiled and kissed him proudly and then teased him mercilessly about how he obviously wanted more than a normal man could handle.

"I know that sort of look. That's trouble in paradise look." Catherine said cutting to the heart of it all. "Argument? Nick wore his boots to bed? Greg decided to style your hair in your sleep? What?"

"Nothing that serious." He spared her a glance, but mostly kept his eyes on the road. She'd still want an answer, no matter how evasive he was, so he could just give her a half-answer and hope that it satisfied her. "Greg reacted a little unexpectedly to a gift I gave him, and it's gotten me thinking."

Catherine waited a long moment for more information and then sighed as Grissom fell silent. "Gil. This is the point where you tell me how he reacted so I can contribute?"

"He started to cry."

"Greg started to cry?" Catherine sounded stunned. "Greg 'beat me with iron rods and I crack jokes' Sanders? What did you give him?"

"One of those..." Gil waved his right hand in the air for a minute. "PSPs? It's black and very shiny and I bought him some racing games to go with it, since he's going to try out for his license in a couple of months..."

"Mm. You evil man Gil Grissom. How could you be so cruel?" Catherine replied. "Okay. I admit it, I'm not following why this heartless action of a random gift upset him."

"Apparently he'd never been given a gift before," Gil sighed, glancing in the rear view mirror for a second. "Every so often we hit a quirk that House Wesker ingrained into him."

"Never been..." Catherine trailed off. "Damn, Gil. Just when I think I've got a handle on what they were like, something else happens. What else does he do?"

"Do...?" He tilted his head a little, and concentrated on the road ahead of him.

"Quirkwise. Though I'm betting you can match him quirk for quirk. I can see why you need Nicky around. Stabilizing force in your three-way." Catherine looked at him again, obviously thinking about the information he had given her.

"Nick has... his moments, too."

Nick had spurts where he had to check every door before he'd sleep, and where he had to make sure all the windows were closed. Nick had moments where he took things Gil said too hard, harder than Gil had meant it, and he nursed those wounds raw. But he had an amazing laugh and he was so... comfortable. Casual. "We're stable on the same basis that a tripod is a stable structure. Three legs are better for balance than two."

She gave him another look that told him clearly that he had been waiting for him to make it all scientific somehow. "Well, yeah. Congratulations, you three are the epitome of every romantic archetype our society has produced. You should just announce yourselves a triad and be done with it. Anyway. What are you going to do about Greg. And Nick?"

"I'm not sure why you think we're archetypes or what there is to do about Nick. I know what I'm going to do about Greg." The answer was that he was going to take Lady Heather up on her offer. Greg needed her smart perspective; sometimes it took a relative stranger saying something to make it more potent than anything a loved one could say.

"Body, mind, heart... energy, focus, balance... come on, that's the exemplar," Catherine replied. "So what are you going to do about Greg?"

"Nick suggested the House Therapist, but he wouldn't have the proper grasp of the real... what Greg's been through. So I'm going to see if he'll talk with Lady Heather."

Catherine nodded, smiling. "That's actually a good idea, Gil. One refinement though I think.... I remember more than half of Greg's problems way back when was the fact that we didn't understand. You want it to work, then you and Nick should go, too."

"We will. Mostly because Lady Heather owes me an 'I told you so'," Gil sighed. “And I'd like to give her the chance to get it in. But even a week spent like that... I understand it better than Nick." It didn't mean that he dealt with it better than Nick.

"He's tough, Gil. I bet he hated that you saw him crying, right? And Nicky has a heart as big as Texas. It makes him good at what we do in a different way and he'll learn to empathize if he is shown in the right way." Catherine mused. She smiled again and shook her head. "They're both crazy about you, you know that?"

"I know." He knew. That was why he had a diamond sitting in a vault, when most men would have cashed out and ran for freedom already. "The best part is that they don't complain about my hours."

Catherine smiled again. "I like this Gil Grissom. The one who laughs more, who jokes and smiles more. I miss the comfort sex though." She smirked.

His mouth twitched a little. Only Catherine could drop a bombshell like that to lighten a mood. If Gil had said it, the radio probably would have turned its low murmur off just to add to the deafening silence. "Greg could probably recommend some great vibrators."

"Too much information!" Catherine held up her hand in mock warning. "There are times I wish Eddie had been right about us. You were his favorite argument starter. I cared more about you than I did him." She paused a moment. "He was right, I did. I do."

"Only because I never abandoned you on your anniversary to hit the bars," Gil smiled a little. "I know, Catherine. You're family to me."

Catherine nodded. "I guess I'm trying to say I'm glad it didn't work like that for us. Because I don't think I've got what Greg and Nick have." She paused a moment. "If you say a penis, I'll hit you."

"Gender isn't really at the heart of it for me," Gil murmured. His mind immediately clicked back to Paul. The memories stung a lot less now, and he'd run into Paul a couple of weeks ago. He was engaged to Wendy, and Gil had only been able to honestly wish them both the best.

He'd probably end up invited to the wedding. It was just as well that he probably wouldn't be best man, because being best man to a woman now a man, marrying a man now a woman would probably involve him wearing a dress or something. 

Greg told him he didn't look good in pastel shades.

"The Grissom in love," Catherine murmured and smiled. "Well, hey, before this case eats our brains, good luck at Lady Heather's."

"Thank you. I suspect I'll need it to leave with my ego intact." His eyebrows went up a little while he spared Catherine a glance. There were flashing blue lights up ahead, and that meant they were right where they needed to be.

"Remember that when Sara tries to hand in her transfer notice again," Catherine said as they pulled to a halt. "She's working up to it again."

He exhaled as he put the SUV in park, and twisted around to reach for the kit. "I don't have to ask why, do I?"

"No. It's driving her nuts. She keeps trying to hate Greg and he just... well. Does whatever it is Greg does and she can't. It went wrong with that paramedic guy. That's the latest," Catherine said as she open the door.

"I wish there was something I could do." But there wasn't. The only thing he could do was work the case, and that started with walking towards Brass, kit in hand, once he'd locked the SUV up.

"That's always been the problem, Gil. It's never been something you could do something about," Catherine replied in a low voice. "That's the difference between Sara and me. I screw up, I choose the wrong guy for me, I bite the bullet, take the pain and move on. And yeah it means being alone, but no less alone than being with the wrong person. She never gets that. Sometime she has to take responsibility for her feelings. And I have got to stop watching daytime TV with Lindsey."

Gil smirked, and shot her a look from the corner of his eyes. "You really do."

Even if he quietly agreed with her.

* * *

Sometimes, a guy just wanted ribs. Somewhere after breakfast, Nick had gotten it into his head that he wanted to eat something meaty and messy. It'd be nice to have a mess on his hands that was barbecue sauce and not blood, and when his and Warrick's case hit a lull while they waited for Trace to catch up with them, lunch out suddenly seemed feasible.

Warrick had been more than agreeable to his choice and they were sitting waiting for their order. "Haven't done this for a while, Nick," he commented sitting back with his patented relaxed attitude.

"What, kicked back during lunch?" Nick had signaled to the waitress that he wanted to drink soda -- beer would've been nice, but not when they were on the clock.

"Yeah. Just us two. Seems recently if we've made lunch at all it's been a group of us." Warrick had a habit of narrowing his eyes as if he was tired or not completely alert, and it led a lot of people to underestimate him.

Nick knew he was being studied, knew that Warrick was working things through and reading him like a book, or at least trying to. "Yeah, it kind of has, hasn't it? But I've just been... busy, you know? A lot lately."

"Gotta be hard with two significant others," Warrick drawled slightly. "Things going okay there?"

Other than that he'd had to pick the lock of the bathroom door the morning before after work? Hunky dory. "Yeah, it is. It's great, actually. Some weird stuff happens every once in a while, but... it's all worth it."

"Last night weird?" Warrick asked easily. "Only there's Grissom walking in with a frown, Sanders holing up in the lab, and you've been doing that staring into space thing."

"Yeah, last night got... a little weird," Nick admitted, glancing around the restaurant for a moment. "Greg kind of got emotional over a gift Gil gave him, and it's just a really long story, man. We'll work it out."

"So spill. Can't be weirder than the shit I saw in the fringe Houses before I got into Braun. This is Vegas after all." Warrick always did have that 'been there done that' attitude.

"The condensed version is that he'd never... gotten something just to have it, you know? Something useless to own, and he started to cry, and then I guess he felt stupid crying and it escalated. Gil wanted to know what was wrong, immediately." Nick smiled and fell quiet as the waitress came back with a tray laden with two large plates.

Warrick rather notably didn't check her out, which had to be a first. The other Investigator was renowned for his appreciation of all things female but he hadn't even flickered in interest as the food was served up. He waited until they were alone again. "Yeah? That sucks. Did you get it sorted out?"

"Yeah, when the smoke alarm went off to let us all know that the pizza Greg had made had caught fire in the oven." Nick's mouth twitched to a smirk, and he gave Warrick a curious look. Huh. If Warrick didn't check her out, then that meant he was dating again.

"Pizza is the cure for everything," Warrick agreed. "Man. I've got to hand it to you, Nick, you're damn cool about all this. Relationships are tricky at the best of times, and you have two."

Two. Twice the trouble, twice the pleasure all at the same time. "Yeah." He'd never really expected either one, let alone for them to both fall into his lap that way. "It helps that we're all pretty low maintenance. You know what I mean? I remember all the trouble you had with that last girlfriend of yours, Katie, wasn't it? Because she just had to have all of your time and just... The way that girl acted blew my mind, man."

"Damn yeah," Warrick paused swallowing down a mouthful. "I can do attentive. I'm like... considerate and caring -- don't laugh, Stokes, otherwise you'll get your ass kicked -- but I gotta breathe sometimes. Remember when I came down to yours to watch the Pay-per-view Meta Fight? Shit, but you'd think I'd chained her in and neglected her for months. One evening with the guys and I was taking serious trips to Guiltsville. I wasn't going to live there all my life."

"Nah, and why should you? I wouldn't want to be in a relationship based on that." It was easy to be with Gil and Greg, comfortable even with the blips of problems that popped up. None of that 'until death or smothering do we part' shit.

"But I do pretty much want a relationship. You guys are a bad example to the lab," Warrick said eating another mouthful. "Everyone's coming down with sympathetic relationship bliss. If they haven't got it they want it. David's engaged, y'know that? Archie went on a date with girl from reception. Even Hodges has been rumored to come in a little too happy."

"I bet he found a bargain on socks," Nick muttered, before he started to chew meat off the outside of a bone that was held precisely between fingertips. "Sympathetic relationship bliss, huh? We're pretty dull, so I hope no one gets envious. I mean, catch up on the news and watch tivo'd TV and watch movies and play games kind of dull. Oh, hey, we went to a fairground last weekend. I felt like the adult for once, with Gil and Greg draggin' me every which way."

"Man, that I would have liked to have seen. I get that with Lindsey...." Warrick covered his slip by eating some more. "Sounds like you guys are pretty solid. Problem is, I think Sara's working on playing her hand again."

"What hand? She hasn't got a hand. All cards played, all bets placed already, you know? Gil's been really happy." It was one of the things Nick could be perfectly sure of, that Gil was happy with the arrangement, because he was always smiling that small smile like he was surprised to be there every moment.

"You know Sara. She can't quite believe that he could be happy without her. Shit, I don't know what goes on in her head. Only that she reckons Greg is in her place, y'know? Fairy tale ending. Fucked up life, meets reward." Warrick swallowed his mouthful. "Catherine talks her down but I don't get it. She hates the fact Greg saved her life. It's like she doesn't think she can hate him or something. Basically, the fact she hasn't got Griss is everyone else's fault."

"And not the fault that he just..." Nick waved cleaned off rib in the air a little, grabbing his soda to take a swig. "Has preferences that don't run her way? Because that's what it comes down to. His choices."

"That's the stupid thing. She knows that, too. She's intelligent and bright and completely blinded when it comes to him," Warrick replied. "Catherine said she uses the same sort of tactics as Lindsey does, when she wants her attention. Seriously, I want her settled and happy because.... no atmosphere. Things were good with that paramedic guy and then he ditches her."

"Shit happens," Nick sighed. "You know, that's the second time you've mentioned Linds. You been spending time with her mom?"

There was a pause and Warrick shifted. "Yeah," he said finally. "Since the official divorce was ruled." He smiled a little. "Told you you were a bad example, Stokes."

It was hard not to laugh, so Nick just did it, sitting back and grinning to himself. "But it's so good to be bad, man!"

"Fuck yeah," Warrick grinned back. "That's the best thing about Catherine, I'm not sure that she couldn't out-bad all of us.”

"She could," Nick agreed easily. "Out bad us, at least. Out kink, now..."

"I wouldn't play odds on it," Warrick said with an easy smile. "Though I get it. Sanders's background and that sort of shit. I thought you were the vanilla guy?"

"Yeah, I did, too." Nick broke out into a grin, and he knew it had to be shit-eating, even though he smiled around a rib. "I guess I kind of am. Gil's game for anything, and Greg's just... chock full of ideas. His apartment? The dude who lived there before then has the place just set up for bondage. There were toys and shit in the closet, and rope loops under the bed..." D-rings on the frame....

"And you're the kid in the toy store wanting to know how everything works," Warrick half squinted at him. "Man, I'm having problems getting my head around it. I mean... Greg, yeah I can see that, but Grissom?"

Nick put the gnawed on rib down, and sort of half-mauled a napkin to clean off one hand so he could pick up his soda again. "Just trust me on this. Greg and him went through the previous tenant's 'toy box' and when he found a pair of wrist cuffs, I thought he was going to die of happiness. He couldn't wait to get them sterilized."

Warrick tilted his head a moment giving him an assessing look. "You're not shitting me, are you?"

He took a swig of coke, and picked up the rib again, one handed at the bit of bone he'd bared. "Nope. Life is good. I mean, it's not all kink and weird stuff. Half the time we fall asleep on the sofa watching tv after work."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah. All those times when we compared notes about what sort of hard night out we'd had, and I'd trade most of them for the sitting on the sofa with Catherine and Lins. Really." 

Good. Maybe the case of 'relationship bliss' wasn't so bad after all, because if anyone had a right to try to be happy, it was Catherine and Warrick. "Well, good for you, man. I'd rib you about it -- because you know the old jokes about redheads and tempers -- but you could get me back a hundred times worse."

"You know it." Warrick wiped off his fingers. "So you dealing with the latest quirk with Sanders or somethin'?"

"Yeah. Gil told me he had an idea, but he wanted to think on it. And that's one more idea than I had, long-term, at least. I think we have everything covered that way, actually. Gil's better with long term, and I'm better with short-term, while he just kind of... freezes up a little."

"Yeah, I noticed that. That deal with the Strangler. It's like he didn't even think the guy would go for him, you know?" Warrick commented. "We're all guilty of not acting quick enough at some point." He looked at Nick for a moment. "Nearly was with you. We all nearly were with Greg."

Way too slow on the uptake there, except now it was like... like he had permission to watch for when Greg was masking, when he was tired or sad or anything other than upbeat and happy. And it made it easier to notice, easier to step in and prod Greg. "Yeah. Mr. Long-term planning Gil got that one. Greg's had way too many close calls. I'm kind of tempted to wrap him in bubble wrap some days, you know?"

"Shit yeah. When Catherine tells me some of the things she just... does, my hair curls. Well curls more." He smirked a little. "Greg seems to be lacking in the concept of avoiding personal harm. Otherwise he wouldn't keep going out on scenes with Sara."

"Yeah, well, Griss is trying to get him used to working with everyone out on the field. Greg likes fieldwork a lot, so... And there's no way that Gil can't put him out in the field with Sara sometimes." Nick raised his eyebrows at Warrick. "Hair curling, huh? What's Cath gotten into lately?"

"Crawling around under collapsing buildings." Warrick poked at the remains of his lunch. "The guy tells her it's not safe, she thinks he's pulling a cover up... so, in she goes."

"Remind me that reverse psychology works on Catherine," Nick murmured. "Yeah, I bet that made your hair stand on end. Greg'd volunteer for that without a thought. Gil'd... I dunno. Put a video camera on a cockroach."

"He's got something that allows him to step outside of the stuff most of us are stuck in," Warrick replied. "But he's given me breaks when I didn't deserve 'em. If not for him, I would have been UnBonded over Holly's illegal killing. Over everything else, too. I don't get the guy-guy thing. I mean I did the practicals in the compulsory Personal and Pleasure classes at school but, I'm sorry, man, I don't look at any of you and see it."

"Good." Nick finished off that rib, and decided to drain off his soda. "I'm glad I still look like me."

"Yeah still the same Texas cheese ball that first rolled in out of the desert," Warrick quirked a smile. "I hope Griss comes up with something. Sanders is a good kid."

And not that much younger than them, but he seemed that way sometimes. He was just a couple of years younger than Nick, but it didn't seem like that, with the weird jaded innocence that he approached most things with. And the energy. Nick couldn't remember when he'd had that much energy. "He's a great guy. We'll figure something out. You and Catherine need to figure something out, too." Nick winked at Warrick, while he dug into his back pocket for his wallet.

"You don't hurry Catherine. Not ever. I know how to survive. " Warrick reached for his own wallet as well. "And this time... I think I can wait it out."

That was a rare admission for Warrick to make. He'd never shown any serious signs of considering a long-term relationship before, just as perhaps Nick had never shown any inclination that he was looking to be in a triad.

It had just happened. All sorts of shit, good and bad, just kind of happened in life. And just because he hadn't been expecting it to happen didn't mean it wasn't a good thing. "Cool. Hey, I've got the check if you'll get the tip."

"Gotcha." Warrick nodded. "I'll pick up the next. Let's get going. The results should be through."

And there would be a next time, even as they paid up and cleared off back to the lab. It looked like things were starting to work out for most of them, as if they had started a cascade of relationships. Warrick and Catherine had a good chance of working out, he knew that. In this case, he knew that Lindsey and Warrick adored each other anyway, and that the pair of Warrick and Catherine matched each other in toughness. He hoped it would work out for them like it was for him, Greg and Gil.

He just hoped Gil had the master plan ready to sort it all out.

* * *

He still felt like an idiot. He had spent the first part of the shift avoiding everybody, thinking too much about how stupid he was. Gil had given him a present and he could still remember taking it and thinking, why is he showing me this?

It never even occurred to him that he was being given it. When he'd realized, or more to the point, Grissom had quietly explained that it was for him, for his own, for no reason apart from the fact that he wanted to give it, the shock had been enough to startle emotions out of his body.

It wasn't like he even had the chance to stop crying. He wasn't sure how it had started. He had just stared at it, a cool present that he and Nick would love, and might even tease Grissom into trying, and the next thing he knew, he was out of control.

This made him a little bit more vulnerable to Sara's remarks than normal, and he hated that, too. She went through cycles of lashing out, and then being human towards him. It was his bad luck they had hit the worst points at the same time.

Still. Processing. He could process with the best of them. Suspected Abduction, formal or fake they didn't know yet. They were on a tight time to declare. The countdown started from their declaration of abductor identity.

The only problem was that they had to be sure it really was an abduction, and there was just something about the scene that seemed a little off. There were signs of a struggle, yeah. There was dirt on the floor and more shit to take trace samples of than Greg had probably thought could exist. But...

"Dammit. We're missing something."

"A motive would be a start. She's not exactly the normal abduction profile," Greg said as he spotted another hair. "This guy sheds like a dog."

"She's a Personal," Sara pointed out. "Do you know how high that gets you in points?"

"Yeah, but there's no House War declared, just a low level conflict with a minor House on the other side of town. Abduction would escalate tensions. They'd want a Personal back. Very valuable," Greg admitted. "And these hairs are old. No skin tags."

"Shed hairs," Sara mused. "Maybe she wasn't abducted at all. Maybe she ran... I'm going to lift this footprint over here, and see if we can get a distinctive pattern from the tread." 

As long as Sara was in science and evidence collection mode, everything would be great for him. Sara in work mode was good, interesting and often fun to be around, strangely enough. It was just as well, because he still felt raw and embarrassed about the night before, no matter what Gil and Nick had said.

"Great." He shifted around. "Or maybe she was taken but it was for a different purpose. It's possible. She could have fallen for an out of House client."

"Is it taking if you want to go with that person, or is it running?" Sara threw that out as a hypothetical while she laid down the film that would lift up that print.

"Gray area. Seducing someone out of their House is something to give the Courts headaches," Greg replied. "There was this guy back in Wesker. They used to call him Hook, because he went 'fishing' for people. Romanced them in, and then landed them in Wesker where they got summarily gutted. Most of those counted as Runaways, though. Abduction has to be 'Removal of a House Member from their own House Territory against their volition without Challenge intervention, for the purpose of acquisition of property."

"Not that you've studied the terms or anything," Sara drawled, peering over at him with a faint look of dislike in her eyes. "Did you ever help?"

Greg paused a moment and turned his head to look at her. "What?" She couldn't have just said what he thought she'd said.

"I'm just curious. I've never been in a House like that. I just wanted to know if you ever helped him lure people in." 

Because, why, through some weird link or something, some fucked up inference, he was good at luring people in?

"No. Of course I didn't." He had to take the sting of that comment. Fuck. He knew where she was going. "If you're looking for how that works, I can help you."

He could infer right back.

She snorted, and flipped the switch so the film charged. "No, I have it covered. Thanks."

Greg looked at her a moment and was about to do what he normally did and back down, let her trample over him, so he could keep the peace, but right now he felt... odd. Weirdly raw and touchy.

"You sure about that? Or is there some other insinuation you'd like to make?"

Clearly, she hadn't every expected any kind of acknowledgment, because she looked up at him, stunned for a moment. "I wasn't insinuating anything, Greg. I just asked a question."

"Like you just ask all of your questions to me? Do I just ask you questions that deliberately imply things about you?" Greg asked in a calm voice, but he was seething underneath. "Have I once asked implied anything about your past? Said, 'Hey Sara, you had some abuse in your past, what did you do to deserve that?' Because it's written all over you."

It was like watching someone get hit, only without the mess of blood spatter or a fist getting in the way. Her facial expression crumpled, slowly shutting down, a lot like the way Gil could do the same, actually. "Look, it was just a question. Get over it. I'm sorry."

Greg immediately felt a surge of guilt but he wasn't backing down this time. "I'm sorry, too. Because, most of the time I really like you, Sara, and then you decide that I'm to blame for everything wrong and we hit this thing where you start off with comments and questions like that. Looks that could have me laid out in the morgue, and basic insults and occasionally downright hatred. I know what hatred looks like. Don't tell me you don't realize you're doing it. Not after some of the things you've said."

She was looking down, lifting the print from the carpet and putting the film over top to preserve it. "Look, I don't want to talk about this while we're working."

"Fine. I won't screw with the crime scene if you don't," Greg replied, muttering under his breath. She'd avoid it, she'd avoid him and they would be back to square one. He was just sick of being the bad guy. Depraved, immoral, without the same sort of feelings 'normal' people had.

Maybe that was true. He did have different feelings, but Gil and Nick were right there with him. Greg wasn't the only one who seemed pretty happy to be with two people at once. 

Sara fell silent, and Greg knew that that was the last of the work banter for at least a good half hour, until Sara found something that she couldn't help but share.

Greg processed. He wished he could process himself as efficiently as he had learned how to work a scene, but that didn't work. He was already regretting what he said and how he'd said it, and he chewed on his lip. He didn't want to take it anymore. Fucked if he knew why Gil wanted him and not Sara, but he did, and every time Sara tried this he wobbled in his certainty. He hated that because he knew he shouldn't be in this sort of life and was pretty sure it wouldn't last and wanted to do what he could to keep it for as long as he had it.

And today he was vulnerable enough that if someone poked at him he snapped right back.

"Hey, Greg! I found a rag. There's some kind of chemical on it." Sara was holding it up with tongs.

"That's laying on a bit thick if it's a chloroform rag," Greg answered, trying to act for all the world like they hadn't just had a few harsh words. "Anesthetic?"

"Possible. We'll get it to Hodges in trace and see what he comes up with," she declared, reaching for a bag. "I think we have everything we can get here."

"Yeah. I think there might be a trace DNA on here somewhere," Greg replied straightening up. "There were one or two things that looked like I could get something off of them."

He wasn't sure any other DNA rating in Vegas could, though. Maybe they weren't meant to pick up some of it. If they weren't meant to pick up on it then it was part of a staging. Sara nodded, and put the bag into the brown paper bag. "Okay. Let's go back to the lab and you can start running things for DNA."

He nodded curtly, packing up his samples and gear and trying to decide whether he should bring up what had happened before they got back to the lab or if he should just let it lie. He'd hurt Sara, and he was sorry about that, but it was a fraction of what she had done either deliberately or on purpose since even before he joined House Braun. There was a small part of him pointing out she hadn't ever actually said thank you for him saving her life. She acknowledged it as an event and moved on. 

Now there was that small part of him that noticed that sort of thing. It wasn't that he would act differently but...

But, but it was starting to wear at him to keep pretending that nothing affected him.

Sara was quiet while she packed up her own kit, and she gave him a pat on the arm on the way out the door. "Why are you trying to get into fieldwork, anyway?"

"Because I like it. You make a real difference, and it feels like a real difference," Greg replied looking at her a moment.

"But you can... process DNA like no one else in the lab. You make a difference that way." She shrugged, like the topic didn't matter.

"Yeah, well... "Greg replied knowing it was a useless answer. "It's not like I lose those skills. I just... sometimes I need to stretch a bit you know?"

"Stretching? By being out in the field?" She ducked under the crime-scene tape, and waved at the imperial guard at the door. "What does that stretch?"

"Feeling like I'm actually really solving something rather than being someone supplying information so they can solve something." Greg replied.

"Yeah, but there's no glory in what we do, Greg," Sara pointed out while she dug for the keys to the SUV.

"I'm not looking for glory. It's just... it's a big world out there and trying to cram myself back into a lab didn't seem like enough," Greg replied. "You don't think I should be an Investigator then?"

She gave a shrug. "What I think doesn't really matter, Greg."

Greg looked at her. "You're kidding, right? What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"I mean that it doesn't matter," she repeated. "I think... you're a good tech. You at least haven't peed in an active scene, and we've had Investigators do that."

"Yeah, well I would have done if Grissom hadn't asked me what I thought I was doing," Greg replied ruefully. "And I do care what you think. If I didn't, you wouldn't get to me so much."

She unlocked the doors, and put her bags of evidence in the back. "I... " Sara was faltering a little. "I think you're a decent Investigator. You'll get the hang of it the more you do it."

Greg looked at her as he followed suit. "Okay, I get the fact that was hard for you, but... let's do this. What's the deal, Sara? I mean, I thought you were okay with me, but it's pretty obvious you're not."

She was quiet until she was in the driver's seat, and had closed her door. "Look, I... I'm trying to work on it. I'm trying to understand what's going on, and it's the best that I can do, Greg."

"Then ask me something, anything. I promise I won't get weird about it," Greg offered. "I just... had a bad night last night. Normally I just try and ignore it."

"I just..." Sara shook her head while she started the Tahoe. "You're with Grissom. And Nick. I don't know why you... why anyone needs that much."

Greg stared out of the window. "You think I've got the both of them dancing to my tune?" He swallowed a little. "Sara, there's something you don't seem to understand. I don't know why Grissom and Nick want me. I live in a permanent fear of today being the day when they realize it's been a big horrible mistake and they move on to a proper relationship. I have no doubt that they will. But until then, I'll take whatever they give me, I'll do anything for them. This is not a numbers game. This isn't a case of Greg Sanders has two so that means there isn't anyone left for you. If you're the one to make Grissom happy, then I'd willingly help you. He does deserve better than me, I know that. But, until he realizes that, I am going to be selfish."

"It..." He could hear hesitance in her voice as she started to drive away from the scene. "I know he never wanted me. He clearly... preferred men, I guess. He sounded so broken up after... what he did for you that week. He told me he was breaking up with someone when I tried to test the ground. I guess I..." She almost laughed. "I should have taken the clue."

"So why are you doing this?" Greg asked in a calmer voice, even though saying the words aloud just made the belief more concrete. "Is it because he's safe to want? Because he's not likely to do anything and there's no threat?"

"No, he just... I still..." Sara trailed off, and looked over at Greg. "Is he at least happy with you and Nick?"

"I think so," Greg replied. "You should ask him. Sara, seriously, I'm trying to help here. What's wrong?"

Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be having this conversation. Last time they'd tried something this open and frank, he'd spent over thirty minutes throwing up from reaction.

"Me, apparently. I'm... trying to let it go." Her eyes were fixed on the road.

"You were doing okay when you were seeing the paramedic guy," Greg offer hoping that he wasn't hurting her with the conversation so much that she was likely to crash or something.

"Hank? Yeah. Hank had a long-term girlfriend." Her mouth twisted down. "I was the other woman."

"Ouch." Greg winced a little. "Then he didn't deserve you. If he couldn't see what he was losing out on..."

"The only thing he saw he was losing out on was his real girlfriend. And then I see you and Gil and Nick, and... I guess it just tears me up. And it shouldn't."

"No, it shouldn't. I don't want to do that to you. But I don't want to be the bad guy anymore just by existing." Greg sighed a little. "Look, if good things can happen to someone like me, then they've gotta happen to you."

It made sense to Greg, because if he could get lucky then anyone really could. Just anyone. She managed a laugh, and looked sideways at him. "Thanks. Why... do you keep trying to make me feel better?"

"Because despite the fact you don't like me, you're still one of the best friends I've ever had." Greg shrugged. "That pretty much says a lot about me, and about you, I guess, huh?"

"Nothing flattering either way," she smiled over at him, looking sad. "Truce?"

"Friends would be better," Greg said feeling inexplicably guilty seeing that expression. Why didn't Grissom want Sara instead of him? Was it just about anatomy? Because otherwise he couldn't see it. Sara was smart and clever, sharp and witty, good looking, high status... "I'm sorry, Sara. Really."

"Don't be sorry. It's... not your fault that I want men who aren't right for me." She was trying hard to smile.

"Well, you haven't fixated on Brass so there must be some hope, right?" Greg tried to lighten the mood desperately.

Desperate measures didn't usually work, but it didn't mean it wasn't worth a try. "Yeah, I guess that's something at least."

Solutions, he needed solutions. Where was his brain when he needed it? "You could always jump the fence, double your choices." Blinding inspiration came out of nowhere. "Archie told me that Teri made a comment about you. He said the talk was Grissom didn't get anywhere with her because he had too much equipment."

If nothing else the idea was outrageous enough that it might shake her back into incredulity, which was better than this slow gnawing pain.

Sara at least laughed at that. "Huh. That almost figures."

"Hey, she's bright, she intelligent and she thinks you're hot. There are plenty of people around who don't get that sort of attention," Greg said smiling encouragingly. 

The small smile on Sara's face seemed to be settling there. "So your general advice is to try people who're actually interested in me for a change."

"It's a novel thought. But sometimes you don't know who's really interested. Never thought Nick and Griss would be in me. Not really," Greg replied. "I just sorta hoped. Well, not even that I guess. I don't know."

"I can't even wrap my brain around the number of it," Sara admitted. She went quiet for a moment. "So, what's your first hunch on this case?"

"Looks fake." Greg said immediately. "I'd swear those hairs are planted, and that's a fake. And if that's a chloroform rag, I'm betting I won't find any DNA from saliva on it."

"That was my hunch, too. We'll process the evidence and see if we're right," Sara murmured. "It's a hell of a cover for a runaway."

"Might be something else," Greg replied. "But it's a bit bloodless for a murder. If it is a runaway, I'm betting she's running to a lower status House or out of state. You need to use the head start."

"Maybe she's running to a higher status House. I mean, that's what Hodges did." Sara tilted her head a little, glancing at him for a moment.

"True, but I've got one hair with a small follicle on it. Now that I don't think is planted. With any luck, there'll be some sort of answer there, because whatever the reason, she wasn't alone," Greg said with more confidence. "By tomorrow, we'll have an answer."

And hopefully tomorrow would be an all around less stressful day.

* * *

Dirty moral compromises weren't supposed to end the way that one had. He'd been arrogant, and too sure of himself and too sure of everything when he hadn't actually understood half of what he'd gotten himself into or done, but it had all worked out.

Every time he woke up, there was some odd edge of pleasure to look forwards to that wasn't the rush of solving a case. There was a great deal of the human element to enjoy, and Gil had lost track of that and hadn't even noticed. He could work on improving that, for himself, for Nick and for Greg.

There was a diamond at the back of his mind, burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket, and Gil had started to think of practical uses for it. He could buy a house, a big nice house, outright, and then that would be a large chunk of money not coming from anyone's pay that could be put towards.. whatever. Paying off, getting nice things, Gil didn't care. He didn't care as long as he kept having the chance to see Nick and Greg together and with him.

Even when he was sitting in the middle of the back seat, leaning forwards while Nicky drove. "Are you sure you remember how to get there?"

"Yeah, I remember," Nick replied.

"Are you guys telling me where we're going yet?" Greg asked. "Damn, I'm glad we've got tomorrow off. I swear you gave Catherine that promotion just so she could cover for you, Gil."

"She'd earned it," Gil shrugged with a smile. "She had everything she needed for it except the leadership experience, and she proved that without question while I was away, so..."

"You can say that again." Nick was grinning a little as he hummed along to the low sounds of their radio. Driver picked the stations, so they were on country at the moment.

"And you all evaded the question." Greg tried again. "You've got fed up with me and I'm gonna be tossed out in the desert? Yes? No?" It was said like a joke, but the mere fact he used that as an example said a lot.

"No, Greg." Gil leaned right, and draped his arm over the headrest to gently run a hand through Greg's wild hair. "We're taking you somewhere for a surprise that I think you'll like. We all need it."

"Does it involve.... food?" Greg asked, obviously leaning back to get more of that touch.

"Maybe some light refreshments." Lady Heather had served him tea once, and had him serve tea another time, but he suspected that was because she knew things like that calmed him when he'd needed just that. "I'm not sure."

"And why is Nick smirking?" Greg looked suspiciously at their designated driver.

"Hey, I'm not smirking," Nick protested.

"You are," Greg affirmed. "You learned that smirk off of Grissom. It usually means you're being uncharacteristically devious. So. A Devious Stokes, a Mysterious Grissom.... what does it add up to?"

"We're trying very hard to keep something secret from you for another..." Gil leaned a little to peer at the clock set in the dashboard. "Nine minutes."

"Give me a break!" Greg slumped a little. "I've had a hard day with Sara. I got pissy at her and everything."

The mention of Sara made Gil stiffen a little. If she'd been going after Greg again then it was probably bad, and yet what he and Nick had decided on couldn't have been better planned. "What happened?" 

"I kinda took something the wrong way. Then I said something I shouldn't have," Greg confessed. "I guess it was from uh, the whole gift thing. We ended up talking and stuff. I think things are okay."

"Are you sure?" Gil's fingers idled down to Greg's jaw, touching gently over smooth skin and the texture of stubble. "Because if it's not okay, I want to know."

Greg quirked a little. "She does this thing where she takes the fact she hasn't got you out on me. I can't blame her. She said something after I was talking about a guy called Hook back at Wesker who seduced people into running and she asked me if I had ever helped out. Man, it doesn't sound anywhere near as bad now. I just... kinda called her on it. And the attitude and then I poked right back at her." He grimaced. "I shouldn't have."

"It's a little unprofessional," Gil admitted, "But everyone has had a problem with everyone else at some point. It's part of the human condition. Maybe now that you've shown that you have teeth, she'll stop."

"Yeah, well then I tried to fix things. I think she thought I was being... greedy by having two partners," Greg sighed. "I tried to explain that it wasn't like that. That's I wasn't going to let anything disrupt us while you'll have me."

Nick had been quietly trying to concentrate on driving, but he glanced at Gil in the rearview mirror. "Greg, you're not a... a pet that we're going to get tired of. This is a relationship, and I don't think either of us is much of the kicking to the curb kind of person."

"Yeah but time goes on and you'll both want someone... like each other," Greg said very calmly. "It's okay, it's cool. I get that. That's what I told Sara. And then told her to try looking at people who were actually interested in her."

"The last part is good advice, Greg, but..." Gil wished he could actually see Greg, rather than trace the lines of his face from behind him. "But you're wrong about the rest. I want you because you are you and not anyone else."

"You quoting me there, Grissom?" Greg seemed to settle a little, and he could feel the huff of a sigh. In one way, Greg was stronger and more confident, and in another he still had issues.

"We both mean it." Nick added softly. "I wasn't sure how this was going to work, but it is."

"It does work, Greg," Gil agreed. He let his hand wander, toying just beneath the collar of Greg's t-shirt, the cool metal of his cuff resting against Greg's neck. "And you're not something to be just thrown away."

Long silence greeted that and Greg nodded, exhaling. "Hey... isn't this the turn off to Lady Heather's?"

Nick was taking the turn, smiling to himself. "Surprise, surprise, it is..."

"We're going to Lady Heather's?" Greg sounded stunned. "Why? I mean... Why?"

As if 'why' needed to be clarified. Gil smiled as he leaned to rest his chin beside the headrest, watching part of the side of Greg's face. "Because she understands, and I think she can help you, and us. There are things that happened to you that I want to understand, but I don't right now. Think of it as counseling that doesn't see the way you like things as something deviant or wrong."

"Counseling for all of us?" Greg asked again turning towards him. "You and Nick, too? You're not dropping me off there or something?"

"No. For all of us, Greg. It's not very helpful if you know what's going on and Nick and I still don't, or any combination of that." Gil gave Greg a wicked grin, and added, "Anyway, you'd probably get into fun without us if we dropped you off there."

"Practical therapy, huh?" Greg perked up at that. "Hey... does this mean we could get to give Nick his fantasy?"

Nick cleared his throat even as they slowed as they approached the impressive looking house. "Uh..."

"I don't see any reason why we couldn't..." Lady Heather had blocked out two hours of time for them, with the availability of a room if needed, and Gil was glad she had that kind of foresight.

"Great! I'm pretty sure she'd help us out. You can do these double binds where any movement by one affects the other. I think that would be pretty hot," Greg suggested twisting to look at Gil a moment.

"How am I going to concentrate thinking of that?" Nick asked plaintively.

"Think of it as the carrot at the end of the stick that you'll get if you pay attention." Nick still had the concentration to park the Denali straightly between two other vehicles off to the side of Lady Heather's parking spaces.

"I want Master classes for you both in how to handle everything and not be worried it'll hurt me," Greg said even as they stopped. "I have this bizarre urge to test out sometime and see how much of a Pleasure or Personal rating I could claim.”

"Higher than wood?" Gil joked, sitting back and pulling away from Greg. "The only time I've ever tried to dominate someone that way, I ended up with a lamp thrown at me. I'll get over the gun-shyness with practice."

"You'll enjoy it. I've recognized that in you. Not sure if we'll get Nick to be comfortable with being out of control though," Greg said happily. "But it doesn't suit everyone."

"Well, lemme decide that for myself." Nick turned off the engine, and started to unbuckle. "Okay. Let's go."

"Nick, we're not rushing the place..."

"I don't think Lady Heather rushes anything." Greg replied, "for all that she taught Gil how to pass as a Personal in one night. I could tell she was good when we saw her."

"I passed decently, even if everyone at that ball recognized me as an amateur." Gil slipped out of the vehicle, waiting for his lovers to join him. "Lady Heather is exceedingly good at what she does."

"Good. Because if there's any chance that this will make everything work with us, then I'll do whatever," Greg said even as Nick stood one side of him and Gil the other.

They book ended Greg while they walked up the sidewalk and towards the somewhat imposing door. Gil guessed that the Dominion's architecture had been chosen almost solely to add to the atmosphere of submitting and dominating. "It's not like she'll have you jumping through hoops, Greg." 

Gil's hand drifted to rest against the back of Greg's shoulder-blade, intimate despite the fabric that kept skin from touching skin, and he was half aware that Nick had snagged Greg's hand.

"Well, she might, if that's what anyone wanted," Greg grinned as he used his free hand to knock at the door. "This is going to work. We're going to work."

It was a barely audible mantra under his breath, and Grissom could tell for the first time there was a hint of belief in the words. Wavering and unsteady, but it existed. All it needed was to be fanned into flame.

The door opened unhurriedly, and a waft of sensuous perfume greeted them as Lady Heather moved into sight looking over the three of them. Almost immediately she met Gil's eyes and smiled, a genuine knowing smile. "Please, enter. And welcome to Lady Heather's Dominion."

Gil Grissom was going to see to it that it worked.

* * *


End file.
